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] — AND OTHER STUFF, TOO

Part V

I was driving through San Francisco yesterday, cranking my way down Post Street —

The light turned red at Polk, and I idled there. As my eyes flitted over familiar sights of my old neighborhood my pulse quickened with familiar city energies. And bubbling almost out of no Thought, this thought:

I’m so glad I don’t live here anymore.

And there it was. Lately as I make trips into San Francisco, I realize how it no longer feels like home, and feel resolute in my decision to leave the city — but there is always an undercurrent of longing.

But yesterday? Not so much.

* * *

My sister-in-law (who, relevantly, is studying to get her Masters in Psychology and likes to ask me lots of probing questions about what I’m doing with my life) said I’d be wise to settle down in a “medium town” next — not a big city, but not the “country,” either.

She thinks people don’t change. She thinks after my little stint here in the country I’ll go right back to living a chaotic stressful city life again. She thinks I’ll return to my “old ways.”

Back and forth and never finding balance, never breaking habit — never “really” changing.

And I say all this as a kind of wrap up for this whole “In Flux” exploration I’ve been on and the meaning of change. Have I changed? Am I country-fied now and has the manic city impulse been forever ironed out of me by a few months of rooster calls and green pastures, or will I go stir crazy by June and fling myself into the wilds of Urbana?

I don’t know, and frankly, it doesn’t matter. Because whether change is permanent or just an ebb in the ebb and flow of moods, desires, or tastes; Change is Change — and once it occurs it doesn’t go back.

We may re-enter the waters, but we can never step in the same river twice. Ah, yes, Grasshopper.

* * *

When I was cleaning out my “Special Box” of childhood memorabilia, I came across a piece of paper I had written when I was about 16. It’s titled LIFE GOALS and it has about 30 or so items I wanted to be sure to do in life — I was an “ambitious” teen, as you’ll discover.

When I was 16 I was so sure that these were the 30 things I had to accomplish before I died — let me repeat that: Of all the things in the world to do, these were the things I had to do before I died.

I remember making this list to remind my future self of these very important not-to-be-forgotten Things To Do. You know, so I wouldn’t forget to Smoke a Cuban Cigar (#26).

But the funny thing is, there are many items I couldn’t care less about, and it makes me realize the “goals” I set forth for myself in one part of my life change as I get older and I change — as the reason for the goal changes.

Why did I feel I must Eat a mango with lime juice without using a utensil (#23)? Oh, I had my reasons. Then.

It’s not the doing that’s important. It’s the experience behind the doing. And it’s the joy behind the experience.

And so I have to learn to live not for my future self, but for my Now — because God knows what my future self will be like, or what she’ll want! Here I am, a watery self, everything seemingly clear and permanent in this moment — but [camera pan out, and] I am rushing forward through time and not a drop of me will actually be the same later.

And so, with no further adu:

SHANNON DEJONG’S LIFE GOALS
1. Learn Karate
2. Skydive
3. Rockclimb
4. Bungee jump
5. Box (kickbox / spar )
6. Dance on point shoe — ballet
7. Flip

— at this point I ask myself, why are the first 7 goals of my life to do a challenging physical activity? I’m athletic, but come on…

8. Learn how to play the saxophone
9. Actually finish a monopoly game
10. Choreograph a dance – perform it
11. Experience life in the city, work for a business
12. Splurge in NY
13. “Leave my heart in S.F”.
14. Return to church / experience religion
15. Save a life
16. Learn a “proper” dance form, i.e. ballroom / tango, etc.
17. Plant a garden
18. Become truly tranquil, no worries
19. Be hypnotized
20. Learn how to hypnotize others
21. Visit a health spa: be pampered, i.e. mud bath, facial, nails — I had very high goals here…

22. Eat a chocolate (etc.) covered insect
23. Eat a mango with lime juice without using a utensil
24. Have a martini shaken, not stirred
25. Read the Bible
26. Smoke a Cuban cigar
27. Caving (spelunking)
28. Make homemade pasta
29. Create pottery (sculpting wheel, etc.) — I’m certain this is on my list only after watching Ghost

30. Go to Nashville and yell “I’m here music city and I ain’t ever leavin’!”
31. Do an ollie on the skateboard — Ah yes, the ambitions of youth
32. Be truly vulnerable and love every second of it
33. Write a novel
34. Travel the world

and today I’ve added one more — you know, just so my future self doesn’t forget:

35. Realize that life is not a To Do list

*[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] — AND OTHER STUFF, TOO

Part IV

I went to a baby shower for a friend the other day, which was lovely, truly lovely. But let me tell you — it could have also wigged me out, had I let it. And here’s why: do you see these people?

These lovely people are having a really great time holding babies and ooh-ing and awe-ing over miniature-sized clothing with hearts and bugs on them.

Great.

Splendid.

I love hearts and bugs. And babies are super-delicious, too. And look how happy they are! Oh, so happy! (Happiness is good! You can’t go wrong with Happy!)

But here’s where the wigging (and change) part comes in: those heart-baby-bug Oogalers? Those baby-lovers? Those maternal-ites and I used to get drunk off of Vermouth and make out with boys in bathrooms at the The Phoenix Theater. We used to dress up as super heros and chase each other around Petaluma with squirt guns. We used to listen to Wu-Tang Clan and Madonna (not concurrently) and choreograph dances and write notes in class with acronyms like “WTF?!” and “OMG!!!!” and “DYTHLM?” (Do You Think He Likes Me?)

We also… used to make fun of… babies. And people with babies. And people wanting to give birth to babies.

And now these people are stoked off of micro-ladybug pants?! When did we go from cynical trouble-makers to Cheek-Pinchers? When did we stop drinking Long Island Ice Teas and start drinking wine — and not out of plastic cups, mind you? When did we stop calling each other over the phone to giggle that we just “got some” and start calling each other to say we just “got some” ….good financial advice for buying a home -?

At what point does one go from being a child to having a child?

All I know is it’s an invisible process, and it’s name is Change.

And I’m not saying I don’t like it. Have you ever gotten drunk off a bottle of Vermouth? I just don’t want to have to oogle over buggy-bug pants. Can I not oogle over the purple hearts and buggy-bug pants?

* * *

And so today, when I get a text message with “baby’s on the way!” I was sitting in the library reading a Chinese dictionary, the web open on my computer, dreams of world travel filling my head:

Remain free! Unattached! Wild, unencumbered, like the wind!
My fingers were flying something fierce; Anne Sexton, e.e. cummings, Edna St. Vincent Millay kindly stoking my pathetic little writing-fire I was breathlessly trying to ignite, having let the creative coals die down to naked embers of late.

I imagined I would need to become very selfish again, devote all my time to myself and my writing, get very focused, and lock myself in a metaphorical creative den so I could make some headway on my novel, which I have not touch in months.

And then the text message. Baby on the way! And everything disappeared: The thoughts of world travel. The crackling digital world. The selfish need for isolation – vanished.

All I could think of was this little girl I once knew in junior high school with cinnamon pigtails, now a woman, giving birth to a little girl of her own. She was about to devote herself whole-heartedly to the raising of a new little girl. Such honor! She would wake every morning with purpose. She would go to bed every night with a singular goal. Nothing would mean the same anymore, for anyone, however slight;

Someone would no longer be “just a guy”, but would be now be Dad; someone would come to know herself as Aunt instead of just “little sister;” someone would teach her daughter to be a mother, and would get to know herself as Grandmother.

This new child was the bringer of Change.

New Life forces change upon us, and we must respond in kind. Like a tree sprouting a new branch — the other branches will grow more or less in the same direction until forced to shift course and change direction… to make room.

People change most when they have to.

* * *

I put away the dictionary, and as I left the library, I thought back to when I first found out my friend was pregnant, and in what ways this little whipper-snapper would bring Change into my life, in what ways she already has. I smiled, as I walked out of the library.
Okay, I thought, I might even be able to learn to oogle over the buggy-bug pants.

[Welcome to the world, Darian!]

*[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] — AND OTHER STUFF, TOO

Part III

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
– Robert Frost

* * *

Returning from an exciting road trip full of back-country camping (and motel-dwelling… O, the rain!) trail-hiking, Beethoven-listening and poetry-reading through California’s Big Sur, the Central Valley, and Yosemite, your temporarily absent (but ever-mindful) author muses on the present theme of change:

Trinkety, these moments are never quite the same.
Nature’s seasons shift in soft tufts – this, Her subtle game: whispering Transformation behind our fickle ears – kissing necks with Spring’s pink lips, sensuality rolling out the years – but when we turn to gaze upon our warmly kissed nape, it’s but Winter’s icy mouth we see smiling back agape.

And as such – Season’s changing breath breathes heavy sighs against Landscape’s barren body to yield a trembling sprout anew; fresh crop reaching into Tomorrow for what it already knew; and, gleeful, grabs hold of what already Yesterday grew – blooming, bursting forth then bending back; stretching itself, jackknifed, onto that Life-Death rack – folding in on itself until Season’s exhale comes to rest, leaving again the Earth topless and undressed – breath sucking back the riches of the landscape into Her newly, hot, mouth.

How, then, can time, Nature, the land – EveryThing -
fill itself with substance molten, to Itself bring
a lava-impermanence, a matter that continually flakes
into air that forms again Her breath – and breaks
the Forever – and ourselves not follow suit? True -
there is a sameness woven through -
a single thread of consistency bows to
Familiarity, also to say we .do
.not .change -well… this is like saying we breath
in
one

(1)
direction.

* * *

Thanks for tuning in despite recent void in posts – but never fear, Dear Readers! Your humble author, although suffering from an ongoing affliction of Change (called Transitionitis Ruralus-Relaxinus with symptoms of WritingTravelBoySleepEat:Life), forgets you not! Check back in for at least 1.5 more installments of IN FLUX: DO PEOPLE CHANGE?

Change is inevitable, yo.

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