.

by the way, Whitney M. Tanner is coming home.

I think the Universe is granting me some wonderful luck at last.

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There are some good stories I could tell about my Memorial Day.  Like how I fought the entire day to get to zeroes at work (thank you, enormous returns).  Or how I had the WORST waxing experience OF MY LIFE.  Or even how I passed out the second my niece fell asleep in her bed at 7:58 p.m.  I'm grateful for those who have gone before, but is it selfish of me to associate the ending of my previous relationships with Memorial Day?  After all, they've all ended right around this day.  It's become a holiday for me to remember all of the things that went wrong.  And it's been a death of some sort.

Something was supposed to happen this week, but I couldn't bear the thought of yet another ending at Memorial Day, and certainly not something related to California (as they all have been... it is entirely creepy).  One day I'll document each out for you and you'll see why it's almost haunting, and at the very least is eery.  So yes, I couldn't face another ending to add to the pile, so I ended it sooner.  Luckily I'm recovering better than expected.

While there are so many endings at this time, it's also promise of a beginning, too.  I continue to have hope for what I might encounter in the future, even if much of it is so uncertain.  Because we have to find a way to move past those things that we've lost.  How else can we expect to survive?  Right?

good morning.

good morning... my thoughts on leaving are back on the table.  I thought you should know.  and maybe powerful actions or powerful feelings will keep me from going.  good morning... why did you do it?  I couldn't sleep; I knew you were gone.  more loving is all I was after, but you couldn't give it, so I'm moving on.


I'm folding my hand.

swing.

I try to avoid thinking this, because it makes facing the next day a little more difficult than it should be, but tonight is one of those nights where I'd like to go back in time a few years.

little updates.

I did a photo shoot with my friend Kurt, which was really entertaining, really freezing, and really awkward to look at.  I'm just not a model.  There were a few photos that I didn't look entirely embarrassing in though, so I figured I'd update a few things on my layout here.  Not a huge change or anything, just a way to freshen up a little.

Oh, and here's where you can find more of Kurt's work.

people.

there is only going to be one more season of Gossip Girl.  tonight was the season finale, and well, let's just say that all of the character assassination across the board actually made me quite happy, because it now makes most of my predictions almost entirely likely.

So I now present to you how Gossip Girl is going to end, not only in the way that would make me happiest, but in the way that would be truly epic.

Chuck and Blair get married and have world domination from the Upper East Side.  Bunnies hop, chicks chirp, birds sing, and everyone bows down to the perfection.

Jenny comes back to take over Waldorf designs.  She still wears shoe polish on her eyes.

Nate and Lola end because Lola is annoying.  

Nate and Jenny have googly eyes again which makes me happier than ever.  My second favorite coupling that almost happened, but unfortunately the shoe polish got in the way.  No longer.

Dan writes his books and they end up all Devil Wears Prada or Nanny Diaries where people enjoy reading it, but in the end they don't really care if those people are bitchy simply because it's fun.

Dan isn't totally alone.  He has his disgusting hair.

Lily and Bart end up with no children liking them.

Eric meets up with them in the Hampton's talking about his new life there as a bartender, still attending high school.

Rufus does something.  No one cares.

Finally, Serena ends up on the streets as a prostitute. All is well.

restlessness.

The feeling of restlessness is now turning into an ache.  I ache to be in a city, in an urban environment.  I ache to be around people who are constantly moving, who are using the metro or a subway to get there, and who only stop to eat but at least each meal is a great gathering.  I ache to be surrounded by strangers who do the most interesting things, even just when commuting to work.  I ache to be near the Met and the MoMA and Park Avenue.  At this point, I even ache to just be living at the upper 90s and Broadway.  I don't even care.  I just need to be able to go to work, and to go take class from Darcy Kistler after work, and to spend my days off writing in the park.  I ache to be on my own, meeting an entirely new group of people, forging my pathway independent of anyone who knew me before.

I mean it when I say ache.  My heart literally hurts for it.  I don't know how it happened, but I am an urban, city girl and my body and my mind need to be there to find the balance I'm seeking.

on discipline and trust of the female persuasion.

Every once in a while I have a dream about Laura McLean, or about Yoshie Akimoto, and often they end up in the same dream.  They're usually pushing me at the barre or at the piano or they're at my place of work telling me to sell more and be the best and keep pushing even though my feet hurt and my fingers are tired.

It's a little bit strange, but it's also a little bit comforting because when I need that extra boost to really move forward through the pain and frustration, they are the ones that somehow get me moving, even after all these years.  I haven't seen Ms. McLean since I was seventeen years old, haven't even trained under her since I was thirteen.  The last time I worked with Yoshie was five years ago.  And yet these women have this remarkable influence in the person I've become and continue becoming, regardless of the time and the distance.

These two women made me reach my limits, and more often than I liked I felt a lot of shame in their presence knowing that I hadn't achieved what I was capable of.  When they have such intense faith in your abilities, and you screw around or let the practice waste away or ignore the task set before you, you can't help but feel as though you've disappointed those who believe in you most.  But in those times when I had a break through, when they guided me to create something of value, I felt such a genuine love and connection with them that I can only describe as motherly. 

Some of my fondest memories are sitting at the piano in Yoshie's front room, angled slightly toward her as she would tell me an anecdote from her youth, or as she would discuss the gospel of Jesus Christ with me in musical terms, or as she would complain about how much the democrats were ruining this country.  We would talk politics and life, and during some of my more difficult moments in my teen years she would let my eyes well with tears while she discussed my parents, and then she would tell me to move past it by putting my faith in God and in the piano.  And to stop crying because there was Bach to be played.  

I have no doubt that the difficulty I had in high school is directly related to Yoshie's absence from my life.

Ms. McLean quite literally yelled at me more often, perhaps more than anyone else.  Yelling at my feet and my arms and my fingers and my tush and my knees, but not the kind of yell that hurts.  Instead she yelled at their temporary inadequacy, yelling reminders of potential not quite formed.  I will always remember this one evening in the mid-winter that changed the way I viewed how I worked.  I couldn't tell you which year it was, or which day of the week, but I can tell you that I was feeling so inadequate and aimless and lost.  Looking back I think it's pretty clear that my family's instability was starting to take a toll on my emotional health, and I probably should have been working with someone even at twelve years old, because I remember feeling a complete slump in every area of my life.  I had plateaued and couldn't find my way out of the hole.  I had been such a strong dancer, and quickly, and then suddenly I wasn't improving and I was frustrated.  More than anything else, Ms McLean wasn't yelling like she once did.  Somehow I found a way to talk to her, and express how every single class left me wanting and a little empty, and that I was no longer feeling motivated or pushed to improve.  The next day she let me take the upper level class with the girls who were five and six years older than me, an evening that helped me realize what I could be capable of.  I worked harder than I'd worked in a class for a long time.  All I wanted was to prove to Ms. McLean that I deserved to be in there, and that I was deserving of a little yelling again.  To this day I quite literally remember the adagio we did at the barre - the ENTIRE exercise, to the point of feeling the pain in my arms and shoulders from pushing that barre so hard in order to make my attitude higher and my bevel more pronounced in my pointe shoes.

The first time I ever sat down and had a conversation with Erika was in my house in Provo.  I was sitting on Grandma's red velvet couch and she was sitting on that stiff-backed chair that had needlepoint work on it, and she explained the benefit of competing at the national teen pageant.  What started as a director-titleholder relationship evolved bit by bit each year.  Back then, 7 years ago, I didn't want to disappoint her because of how much she was investing in the person that I was presenting myself as.  There came a time when I didn't want to disappoint her because I wanted to be like her.  And now I don't want to disappoint her because she may know me better than anyone, and therefore she knows who I can be.  Even scarier, she knows that I know who I should be.  To not live up to that would be so painful for me, and it wouldn't matter if she knew what I was doing or not.  Just the simple fact that Erika would expect more is enough for me to second guess some decisions I might make.  She may not have been the one sitting at a nearby piano or wearing teaching ballet heels, but she's been the one to ensure that the discipline and perseverance I learned in those arenas have transfered to the individual I am.  She was never afraid to tell me when I did wrong, like that one time in June 2007 after I'd had a meltdown after talent.  And I hope that I've learned from those experiences, and her love and support have given me the chance to rectify wrongs and be better.

Sometime soon I'm going to start writing publicly about what happened in the early spring of 2010, but until then I will just say that Leslie Tanner had the inspiration to be the person who checked up on me, who offered the advice over dinner, and who gave me the encouragement to see a doctor about finding my way back to being the person that these other women have helped me to be.  Not only did she birth girls who I consider to be sisters (and one of whom who is the most wonderful best friend I could have), but she is an extraordinary friend who I know I can count on.

Finally, I don't know how well you know my own mother, but she is a fighter.  Last night we went to my niece's dance recital and I felt such overwhelming gratitude for the woman who gave me life, who fostered my innate talent, who found such remarkable teachers to harness that talent, who put me in that teen pageant that changed my life.  She never let me quit, even when I begged and begged.  She drove me everywhere, and she put up with my whining and crying, and she encouraged me to be the best.  She had the vision to put me with individuals who understood foundational principles in education and the arts, and these women who have had motherly influence over me were a part of my existence because my own mother chose them.

God has blessed me with extraordinary women in my life.  Women who work every day, with monetary compensation or not, who produce amazing results in their careers and their families and in how they serve outside their homes.  I'm not sure if my experience is all that normal, this entire situation where I have so many women to look to as mother-figures, but I couldn't be more grateful that I do indeed have such a blessing.

It's no secret that I want desperately to be a mother.  Partially because I've had this weird pull toward playing with and tending to little children, even as a child myself.  Mostly because I want to have the opportunity to teach what these women have taught me.  My associations of motherly affection with all of them are surely culturally influenced, as the "Mother model" or paradigm in my brain connects a woman pushing me to be my best with my own mom, but I don't see it as a bad thing at all.  Indeed, I am more grateful for the moments when these women have pointed out my mistakes, and provided the tools to make them triumphs.  It's very spiritual, and perhaps one day we'll have more proof of why it feels so spiritual, but right now I'm not going to worry about why I feel such love and gratitude.

Instead I'm just going to say thank you for being the women I trust.

ending.

There is this really freaky thing that happens to me every single year, at this time of year.  WITHOUT FAIL.

A relationship (or sometimes a not-relationship relationship in which a person might not be prepared to commit) ends, and I'm stuck watching Grey's Anatomy crying over my sad, pathetic existence and how I'd prefer to be Izzy getting married or someone getting shot or Lexie getting kissed by Jackson or Derek being sucked out of the airplane.

Really though.  It's getting really ridiculous.

Ridiculous in the sense that every person I've cared for ends up outside of my life once the month of May ends and ridiculous in the sense that I have watched EVERY SINGLE EPISODE OF GREY'S ANATOMY EVER MADE.

It's obvious already that this little thing I'm writing is going to end up back on the cutting room floor when I come to my senses, but for right now I'm going to write it and let it be, because there's nothing else that will help me at this hour.

You've probably figured this out, but I'm better in larger groups of people.  With dancing or singing or writing and sharing details.  Not having to look you in the eye or see your responses to what I'm doing or saying or performing is preferred.  It means I can be open without seeing singular reaction.  You're a collective sort of you, therefore it's relatively safe.  I was that way as a kid when singing, I was that way when I was 12 each time I had to play that piano, and I'm that way as an adult when having to work through pain.

Sometimes life is so insanely hard.  We have to disappoint people who disappoint us and we're all just sad and hurt and disappointed and apparently I'm a bullet who ended up not hitting someone which ironically hurts me more than you.

Stick with me for a moment.

I'm a good person.  I care about people.  I want them to be happy and content and successful.  I work hard to keep people feeling good about themselves, and I do my very best to always be genuine.  So when I have to make the hard decision that breaks my heart, even when I know it might break someone else's, know it's not done out of malice.  It's done because I care too much to let bad feelings grow.

I'll be fine.  I've been here before.  3 years ago.  2 years ago.  I got through it then.  I'll get through it now.  But it feels different this time.  And I hate that.

Can someone find a way to bring Whitney home please?

just call me the bullet.

maybe I'm not up for being a victim of love, and all my resistance will never be distance enough.

.

you learn a lot about a person when you make them mad.

.

sometimes it would be really awesome if my best friend didn't live in Bolivia.




won't do no good to hold no seance.  what's gone is gone and you can't bring it back around.  won't do no good to hold no searchlight.  you can't illuminate what time has anchored down.  honey, I've gone away.  won't do no good to sing no love song.  no sound could simulate the presence of a man.  won't do no good asking no questions.  your divination should acquaint you with the plan.  won't do no good to go no distance.  the space between is us as boundless as the dark.  won't do no good to throw no fists babe, you can't intimidate me back into your arms.  my feel for you boy is decaying in front of me like the carrion of a murdered prey.  and all I want is to save you honey, or the strength to walk away.

bowie truth.

this is ground control to major tom, you've really made the grade, and the papers want to know whose shirts you wear.  now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare.  this is major tom to ground control, I'm stepping through the door, and I'm floating in a most peculiar way.  and the stars look very different today. here I am sitting in a tin can far above the world.  planet earth is blue, and there's nothing I can do.

tristesse.

Remember that little gig I mentioned a few weeks back?  The one about ghost writing?

I think I might have been able to write something again that has purpose.  It's little and it's short and it's not even me, but then again, it kind of is as these four girls each have qualities I've stolen from myself.  But I love writing this one girl in particular because I can tap into who I wanted to be at one point in my life, and it reminds me that while I didn't become the stellar virtuoso I dreamed of being, I developed a few important skills and learned a few things that have quite literally saved me during some of my times of failure or despair.

Music is a powerful thing, my friends, and the study of it is even more of a testament to that.

Finally, I am blessed.  Sometimes confused, and often uncertain, but extraordinarily blessed.

.

In the end, when I wake up in the middle of the night scared about my future, the thing that ties all of the uncertainties together is that I believe that I might have once written something that was good, or maybe even better than good, and that gives me hope that perhaps I can do it again one day.

whhheeeeee.

The last few days have been sloooooooow.  It's proof and a further reminder that I actually LIKE being busy.  I like having things to do.  I like going to work and to pilates and practicing with my partner.  And I miss all of that.  Just a few more days and then I can start easing all of that back into my life.

So the quick update is pretty basic: surgery went well, no complications, and it's going to take a few months for things to, errrr, calm down, but I think I'm going to be very happy.

And not embarrassed or shy at all...

I even managed to shower and dry my hair all by myself today - progress!

My doctor told me there was a chance I'd be a little depressed after surgery, just because everything is so out of whack for a while, and I see what he meant.  You go through all of this build up and anticipation only to get immense pain and swelling on the other side.  Not to mention the intense hormones that are going all psycho right now.  A couple of you have been really good about reminding me that things are going to get better the further removed from surgery I am, and I thank you for that.  I'm sorry that it's all-consuming right now.  A few more weeks and it'll be like it never happened!

.....right?

Thanks to my dad for being my nurse and to all of my friends and family who've been by to visit or who've left me text and voice messages.  It means a lot.

I really have no idea how I wrote this as I'm fighting to keep my eyes open and my finger typing.  Silly pain killers.

crass and immodest and worldly

Writing has become really ritualistic for me, which is absolutely no problem at all, but not in the way I expected.  When I first started blogging, before I knew what writing really was, I'd always write about every huge thing that would happen to me.  You see, things were really tough back then.  I was struggling with who I was and what I was doing and who I would become and what I would do.  Every little thing that happened became a triumph, particularly if I could articulate it into words.  

So I guess now I look at this little guy here with slight contempt.  I don't really get to be honest, which is no fun.  To be honest would be to open myself up too much to you.  You'd see why I cried at work for three straight days last week, or why I have to turn some of my facebook friends on mute, or why I'm insanely nervous and excited (or nervited) tonight.

Sometimes we have to reserve those moments for our personal journals.

Or.

For the time when I might have a book published and hopefully be so far removed from everything that I can write about the truth and no one will care.

So tell me this: at what point can I start writing about life experiences that include other people?  

And to cap this all off, I'm having surgery tomorrow.  I'm not going to be blatant about it right now because according to my mother to talk about it is crass and immodest and worldly so all I will say is that you will no doubt notice when you see me.

Obvious enough for you?

I'll write about it later, probably once I get up the guts to be honest.  

I'm so sorry!  Why am I being such a wuss?!

fiona speaks truth.

so be it I'm your crowbar, if that's what I am so far, til you get out of this mess.  and I will pretend that I don't know of your sins until you are ready to confess but all the time, I'll know.  and you can use my skin to bury secrets in and I will settle you down.  and at my own suggestion I will ask no questions while I do my thing in the background, but all the time, I'll know.

baby, I can't help you out while [it's] still around.

so for the time being I'm being patient.  and amidst this bitterness, if you just consider this...even if it don't make sense all the time, give it time.  and when the crowd becomes your burden and you've early closed your curtain, I'll wait by the backstage door while you try to find the lines to speak your mind and pry it open hoping for an encore.

but if it gets too late for me to wait, and for you to find you love me and tell me so.

it's okay.

don't need to say it.

all I want is to save you honey...

I've really got to stop listening to all of this Fiona, and I know we're only allowed to listen to her on Thursdays, but she's the only thing that fits right now, so I understand if that means I can't sit with you anymore.

I think I want to watch Mean Girls.

But really I've just been watching Friday Night Lights again, which reminds me that Coach Taylor is perfect and Tammy Taylor is perfect and I really hope that one day I can have a relationship like that.  The kind where you can tell each other everything that's bothering you without worrying about it ending or being destructive.  Maybe you'll fight enough that you kick him to the couch for the night but the next day he'll come back and tell you how he's really feeling...and it will all be okay.

Meanwhile Fiona is the one who fits how I'm feeling.  Every little bit.  So when the tickets for her concert go on sale April 21, I fully expect many of you to say "Jen, we hate her music" when I ask if you want to go with me, and I fully expect to feel just fine with that.  Because she's right.  So behold, I present my current state in Fiona lyrics.

I'm good at being uncomfortable, so I can't stop changing all the time.


I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine.


I promise you, everything will be just fine.


but the last one I had who was getting my hopes up, I might've been a little fast to dismiss


Everything good I deem too good to be true


O' sailor why'd you do it.


I've got a plan, a demand, and it just began.


I'm either so sick in the head I need to be bled dry to quit.  or I just really used to love him.  I sure hope that's it.




I could keep going, but then you'd all start questioning my sanity.  So I bid you goodnight as I am now going to continue reading some of the teenage girl literature I bought so I could remember what it was like to be one so I can write like one.  make sense? No?  Fine.  I'm going to go eat some cheese now.




...or the strength to walk away.