Sometimes life just doesn't work out the way we might expect.



I know that, time and time again, mine hasn't.



Sometimes it's because of the decisions we make for ourselves.



Sometimes, it's the decisions of others.



We find out someone we love isn't who we thought they were and, as a result, we find out maybe we're not what we thought we were.



Sometimes we are worse, which, if we are aware of that and willing to admit it, is a great starting point of change.



Sometimes, we are better. Better than our choices. Better than the choices of those around us. And sometimes, when we finally realize it, we need that affirmation.



Obviously, there are things and people going on in my life to make me muse upon such things.



If you will notice, I used the words "choice" and "decision" many times.



During times such as these, I am so proud to be an Existentialist.



the most prominent tenant of Existentialism can be summed up in a quote by Jean-Paul Sartre: "We are alone, with no excuses."



Existentialism advocates that man is completely free--as a whole and as an individual. We might be influenced by genetics, environment, society, etc., but ultimately, we are an absolute product of our own making.



It's not Mommy or Daddy's fault.

Or the teacher,

the preacher,

the police office,

the judge,

drugs or alcohol,

your next-door neighbor,

that one, only, and best love of your life who brutally broke your heart,

not god's,

and certainly not Satan's.



There are many "famous" Existentialists.



Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Jean-Paul Sartre, Soren Kierkegaard, Friedrich Nietszche, Albert Camus, Viktor Frankl...



...oh, and one Jesus of Nazareth.

Actually, the majority of people I know ascribe to many Existential beliefs without even realizing it.

What happened--Existentialism, before it got the name, was purposed by its "father"--Mr. Kierkegaard, who, as a very devout Christian, came to his "Existential" philosophies due to the bible, Jesus of Nazareth, and his own intuition. this was sometime in the mid-to-late nineteenth century. Existentialism, however (long story short), fell into the hands of hard-core Atheist Jean-Paul Sartre near the beginning of the twentieth century. After that time, Existentialism too a rapid decline and all but disappeared by the 1950's, except in college textbooks and some schools of psychology.

But that's not what I need to discuss.

I give the brief background of Existentialism as a foundation for the following.

Life has changed for my little corner of it today. I am honestly not sure if I am even aware of all the future ramifications. In this case, hindsight is 20/20, but, i think if I were truly honest with myself that, looking back even, perhaps, at the beginning, bust especially over the past ten months, I probably knew all along that this is the way things would end.

But whether I knew or not doesn't at all numb the hurt. This is one of those "life" things where the only salve is time and only time. This is one of those "life" things that tests everything one thinks one knows about life and living and love.

My life (along with so many others') has overwhelmingly proven how often love and trust are never good. From biology, to the church, and even to myself, time and time again I have seen people walk away--the "bad" ones who should have, and the "good" ones who said they never would.

It happens so often, I am accustomed to it.

And, hell, after all, I am the common-bond--what does that say about me?

But, through it all, for whatever reason, I have maintained a virtually unfaltering faith in love and hope. Hope is easier to believe in. I can't explain it, but there is some unnatural element in the core of my being that "hopes" for me...almost involuntarily...like breathing or my heart beating. I hope in a naive way, like children whole-heartedly believe in Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and Jesus (that was in no particular order...if it had been, the Easter Bunny would've totally come first... :D). Hope, in me, is like a survival mechanism. it kicked in when I was younger and predestined and told me I didn't have to be. And it has been the sole force of strength and fight that has carried me over the past four years, and will carry me into the future (*aside--Frankl talks a great deal upon hope, what he calls "the will to meaning," in his excellent book Man's Search for Meaning, and his school of psychology, logotherapy).

Believing in love, however, is an entirely different story and at times takes every ounce of Existentialist in me.

Unconditional love is supposed to begin in the home. I, like so many others, didn't even know the concept existed.

It is supposed to be fostered and furthered along by the church. gain, as for so many others, that didn't happen either.

And yet, I do still ardently believe in unconditional love.

Unconditional, lasting love.

Part of it is the hope in me. Part of it is the stubbornness. Some of it is because I have known unconditional love--in some way--it just wasn't lasting.

Goodbyes are never easy for anyone. By goodbye, I mean a break-up, the dissolving of a friendship or romantic partnership/marriage. Death is not always the most difficult of these.

It is the goodbyes we are blindsided by. Thought we might suspect an air of discontent in something that was once beautiful and free, they are the goodbyes that we don't believe--partly because we don't want to, and partly because we are, yes, blinded by love--these hurt more than any poet's pen could say.

For people like me, it's a potentially devastating thing. because of what we have seen in life, trust does not come easy to us, and when that trust is given--finally--then proven misplaced again, it cuts down to the very core of the fabric of ourselves, and of what we believe about the goodness of the world as a whole.

We think, finally, here is someone who really loves me--absolutely, unconditionally. They have struggled with me, laughed with me, cried with me. if they haven't left yet, surely they won't.

the ghosts of the past start to vanish. The memories fade. Genuine love begins to bring healing to places that probably never expected to be redeemed.

You begin a new life with a new hope living in a new awareness. You begin to believe that, just because circumstances and people in the past were what they were doesn't necessarily mean the future is bound to that.

You begin to believe that you are different, too, that maybe you really didn't deserve everything that happened and that maybe, just maybe, you are gonna be okay in the end.

And then, just as you start to breathe again, and hope again, here comes goodbye.

And it's a paramount ache. A profound cry your soul is not even sure of the language to. That person, those people, they have made their decision. They have walked away, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, you can do about it. It might be the closest, blood-like friend. It might be the most intimate, and only, lover you have ever known. It might be the family you finally found after never having one, and finding out you never really had that family either.

But is is not just the loss of that tangible person. The grief compounds all. What about the memories, the good times? were those even real? Did he or she ever truly mean all those things they once said Was it all just some game to them? Place your bets, roll the dice, cash out while you are still ahead?

And to the soul left, grieving, behind?

What about the world? What about humanity? Is love really nothing more than masquerades bought by the highest bidder?

And what about that great, pretty little Existentialist thought that preaches choice?

What if I don't wanna choose to be okay?

What if I feel betrayed, devoid, empty of all the strength I had to make my own decision?

What about love? And hope? And truth and trust and touch? Do such things exist at all, after they have been proven impossible time and time again?

Existentialism doesn't advocate choice as either "good" or "bad," it simply says that choice is free, independent of the will of others, completely and utterly the result of the one, solitary individual.

Existentialism says that, whatever decision we make in any circumstance, is neither good or bad, as long as we our individual selves stand up and take the ultimate responsibility for our choice.

So we choose bitterness and grief and anger.

We choose to re-evaluate ourselves, what we believe. We grow cold, or we train ourselves to adapt.

"...neither right nor wrong, but thinking makes it so..."

I don't want to have to choose right now.

But, if I must, with the way I feel, I wanna choose to lock up, to not feel, to return to my purely logical, completely unemotional life. Where things made sense because they didn't, they couldn't, hurt.

That is what I want to do. And, honestly, most likely what I will do...for a few days.

Because, you see, I am an Existentialist and I know that whatever I become as a result of this goodbye is not a result of this goodbye at all. what I become is all because of what I choose to become.

And I choose to wait for you.

You know who you are.

Just like I waited, and smoked that cigarette outside the gates...the entire cigarette, waiting, just like I said I would...

...I choose to wait for you...

...because, I believe:

" Love is handing your heart to someone and taking the risk that they will hand it back because they don't want it. That's why it's such a crushing ache on the inside. We gave away a part of ourselves and it wasn't wanted.

Love is a giving away of power. When we love, we give the other person the power in the relationship. They can do what they choose. They can do what they like with our love. They can reject it, they can accept it, they can step toward us in gratitude and appreciation.

Love is a giving away. When we love, we put ourselves out there, we expose ourselves, we allow ourselves to be vulnerable.

Love is giving up control. It's surrendering the desire to control the other person. The two--love and controlling power over the other person--are mutually exclusive. If we are serious about loving someone, we have to surrender all of the desires within us to manipulate the relationship...

[It is] vulnerability...for a purpose.

There is a weakness that is actually strength.

And there is a strength that is actually weakness...

Really good, loving people get hurt. It's how things are.

Maybe you're living in the wake of a relationship that fell apart. You have to dig those moments up. the parts that hurt and the awkward conversations and the anger and the failure and the misunderstanding and the betrayal. You have to dig them up and acknowledge them before you are ever going to heal.

The danger is that you will decide it isn't worth it. Why risk if it's going to hurt like this? The tragedy would be for you to shut down, to allow a wall to be built around your heart, and for something within you to die.

A decision not to risk again is a decision not to love again. They go together.

Why is it those we love the most are the ones capable of hurting us the most? Our greatest wounds rarely come from strangers. They probably come from an ex-fiance, a former friend, a roommate, a sister, a business partner.

Even in healthy relationships, an offhanded comment or a rolling of the yes can cripple us for days or years or even a lifetime. This is because the more we open ourselves up, the more vulnerable we are. The more exposed we are, the more it hurts. The more we let someone in, the greater the risk. Surprise, anger, shock, betrayal, helplessness--it all gets mixed together...

Agape is a particular kind of love. love is often seen as a need, something we get from others. Agape is the opposite. Agape gives...

Agape doesn't love somebody because they're worthy.

Agape makes them worthy by the strength and power of its love.

Agape doesn't love somebody because they're beautiful.

Agape loves in such a way that it makes them beautiful.

There is a love because, love in order to, love for the purpose of, and then there is a love period. Agape doesn't need a reason."

(*from Rob Bell's Sex God).

I love you.

And I will...because I believe in you and I believe in love.

It hurts today, but my choice is to love anyway.

Some of the things I love immensely are random, inspirational quotations. Maybe it's the English major in me--whose job it is to write ten-page research papers centered entirely around only a quotation or two. Or maybe it hearkens back to all those memory verses from Sonbeams, Sunday School, and VBS. I am not as close to the Bible as I once was, and I am honestly glad of that. Christian or not, if the deity that book speaks of exists, or any deity for that matter, powerful enough to create all this--I don't personally believe it would bind itself to the confines of one book alone (or a massive compilation of sixty-six tiny books). But I digress. Quotes have filled a place in my life not at all unlike scriptures fill a role in the lives of others. I seek them out. I study them, try to ascribe them to memory, and am constantly aware of the positive, and yes, sometimes healing influences they have in my life.

The reason I bring this up is because I got a special package in the mail today.

A sweet friend of mine, who can be named only if he names himself, was in Hawaii right around Spring Break with his family. We had only just begun talking (text and one phone call), which makes it even more special that, while on vacation, he thought of me. He has had the gift in his possession since that time, and, since that time, our relationship really probable should have ended many times over and yet, with change, I believe we have become even closer to one another, and I now call him my brotha from anotha motha, and he calls me is honky ginger sister from another mister.

Anyway, so the gift arrived two days ago at an address I use but don't live at. It was delivered to me, and opened immediately...all smiles, today. And it was absolutely wonderful! Not only did I love it because it was so special, but because, here is this person I had, at the point of the gift's purchase, not known that long, and yet it is something I myself would have bought. Anyway, the gift, a gaudy (my favorite) beaded bracelet of many colors...yellow (which is why he brought it), purples, light greens, black, jade, dark coral, mosaic like...it's just lovely.

But there is one specific bead that I really love...

...and, I am sure, after my introduction, you could prolly assume why.

Yes, one bead, a simple rectangular bead, has some random quotes pasted onto it.

One of the quotes really struck me, as it hit my soul in a way as if it had been directly written toward or spoken for me for this specific time in my life.

Albert Camus, a philosopher famous for his advocacy of Existentialism (yes, that's my "religion"...ironic, I think not), yet his strict hatred of the word "Existential" (and its many forms), but a firm belief in his opposition to the philosophy of nihilism and his support of free-will and individual responsibility...said, "Live to the point of tears."

"Live to the point of tears."

That quote is powerful enough in and of itself...it engenders so many varying emotions...in me, at least.

But, knowing Camus...or, at least, his philosophical standings, it makes it even more powerful.

Another but, however...knowing Camus is up to you.

Come on, I can't be your encyclopedia.

I don't know what Camus was thinking specifically when he penned this quote, but I know what it makes me think of...

...the tears I cried today and yesterday...the hurt of a not completely requited love, the hope in something more, the absolute unwillingness to back down...

...the tears I finally allowed myself to cry a week or so after I found out I was pregnant (I was busy sharing the news with others and dealing with their reactions)...the all-consuming fear that one day in particular: while everyone else was preaching at me and worried about how I would provide for the baby's day-to-day needs (i.e. food, clothing, shelter, etc.), I break down because, at just a few weeks, I have no connection but an awareness and I am afraid that portends I'll be a bad mother. What if I can't love the kid? What if all the things I think I believe about life and child-rearing are all wrong?

...the tears I cry when something on the news strikes me: documentaries on the Oklahoma City Bombing (which had a profound affect on me as I was young and home sick from school that day); when reading things like Frankl's Man's Search For Meaning. Those tears I shed not because I have been there and done that and understood those terrible things firsthand, but because, regardless of religion, status, country, sex, age, etc. I feel a deeper awareness and connection with my fellow man, my fellow brother.

...the tears I cry when my little brother's here; tears that come because he is giggling so hard he's making me giggle hard.

...the tears when I achieve something I didn't expect, like publication of my writings in some random Junior College Arts Journal, the award for English Literature excellence my professors hand-picked me for.

...the tears at running into an old memory, hearing the birds sing (for someone with Rheumatoid Arthritis, that first Spring bird after a long winter is more than music to the ears or soul...it's music to the joints as well...it means relief, and in affect, life are coming again).

...the tears at that "I love you" from an "I love you" that wasn't supposed to be.

...the good ones, the bad ones, the in between ones...

...all those tears that prove I am really living, really loving, really taking a chance on happiness or sadness.

To me, at least, when Camus says to "Live to the point of tears," he is saying "live."

Live for this moment. Live for tomorrow. Live for twenty years from now. Live with hope, with strength, with perseverance; with the awareness that pain comes, but happiness does, too.

Just live.

It's a lot like what William Cullen Bryant said in his masterpiece "Thanatopsis":

"So live."

I like those quotes that talk about living.

Mostly because I am an Existentialist, and those quotes are very Existential in their endeavors.

And, then, because I have, like so many other people, wasted a lot of time not living.

Those are my thoughts for today. Somewhat random, but perhaps not. Maybe it needs to be heard...whether by someone today, or someone who stumbles upon this entry months or years from now...perhaps even for me myself, or even my son or daughter some day in the future.

Oh, and in some ways, it can be a call to you, my reader, if you are interested. I have an interest in compiling for my son or daughter a Quotation Bible of sorts. If you have any quotes...from songs, poems, books, stories, "important" people, "normal" people, please, let me know.

Again, thanks for reading. And, again, if you read this far, you deserve a treat. Go have a chocolate chip muffin or a slice of watermelon.

Until then, "Live to the point of tears."

JennahRose/Spero.

Slide Show I Wasted Time Creating For the New Blog that Wouldn't Allow Said Slideshow's Posting Thereupon. Grr.

http://www.slide.com/r/ViQEAVV94D9Ic1VzH5TYHCKzkK-2MpFx?previous_view=mscd_embedded_url&view=original

So this is my first ever blog. We will see how this goes. I must eternally ascribe blame where blame is due, and, Liz Martin Reeves, this one is for you.



Mrs. Reeves, a precious friend of mine, maintains her own blog pretty regularly, with updates on her beautiful family (precious kiddoes) and their laudable achievements. The past few days she has chronicled chapter by chapter reviews of a book she is currently reading. I like her fervor and her willingness to share her day-to-day story with the rest of us. Liz is the kind of people, the kind of Christian, the kind of neighbor, parent, wife, friend that makes living in this world what it should be. She's honest, humble, and what you see is what you get. In a world where interpersonal truth is so hard to come by, Liz truly is a breath of fresh air.



Not to mention the fact that she is friends with me, for better or worse. And, since putting up with me is never an easy thing, you know she has to be good people.

So I have read her blog, admittedly, only a handful of times, and ever since I first saw it I thought it would be something interesting to do. I am, after all, an avid writer. It just seemed to me that my life really wasn't that interesting...okay, maybe it was interesting, but, at best it was controversial, at worst, well, it was more controversial. And, the older and more mature I get, sometimes I realize that stirring up trouble just to stir it up isn't always as great as it seems (although, sometimes, it really is totally worth it).

But today, July 1st, 2010, my life is drastically different than it was twelve weeks ago.

"For whatever it's worth, I am one of those kinds of people.

Yes, one of those kinds...

...one of the kinds you wouldn't bring home to momma, one of the ones with a ton of tattoos, a history of piercings, who likes to drink...and can drink a lot. Been committed (more than twice), a brooder, a wanderer, an aimless vagabond with no home. One of those who stay consistently just this side of Atheism, a hard-core proponent of Existential philosophy and its practices, who still attends Sunday School every week...a class comprised of retirees in their sixties plus--ardent, hard-core Southern Baptists who, for the most part, live and love the way their rabbi taught them to do. I frequently listen to a mix ranging from Marilyn Manson to Johnny Cash, from Elton John to Southern Gospel Quartet music...there's nothing like the old-times...and part of me whole-heartedly believes that, if there is a heaven, when I get there, I will sing just like Vestal Goodman.

...one of the kinds who is stubborn, headstrong, fiercely independent, and knows what she wants out of her life--although, she often does the best she can to make sure she doesn't get it. A lover of literature, art, history, societies, cultures, and random religions, holidays, and perspectives on the world she knows she doesn't occupy along and that doesn't suddenly end at the city limit sign of her Bible-Belt, Republican, east Texas town. Doesn't believe in abortions as a method of birth control, but is a hard-hitting proponent of a woman's right to choose without judgement and criticism from the right, but also all the facts and information about the aftermath that the left sometimes doesn't share either. Just like Ghandi, she likes Jesus, but not Christians, Muslim tenants of kindness to the unfortunate and passion, but not hatred. Buddhist thoughts of compassion and retribution. Free-thought. Openness. For no personal reason (she's proudly straight), except for the ardent belief that "all men are created equal and are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, and among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness," which leads her to therefore believe that all men and women deserve the same rights, including marriage rights."

Labels? According to all the random things I believe or support, I should be one of those people who loathe labels. But I completely understand how society, and the human mind itself, works...so labels?

One might call me a young, Existential, seeking, wandering, humble-yet-grossly-proud, left of the right of the left, advocate of freedom and truth.

Or something to that extent.

See, I can't even label myself.

And the fascinating thing about that is...this thing, this person, this "one of those" people found out on May 18 that she's going to be a mother.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!????????????????????

@#$%, *$#%, @&#^, %!@#, $*#&, #%$*!!

Me? A mom? I'm not supposed to have children...certainly never, but especially not now. Not when I move ever few weeks it seems, have no job, am a full-time student without a family.

I'm supposed to adopt. I know what it's like to want a mom and a dad. I'm supposed to help those who are already here, not bring more into it.

Too late. Apparently, it was God's will...and in this situation, God's name was Coor's Light.

(*Aside: I am not even going to add a disclaimer to my previous statement. Those of you who know me well enough know both what I do and do not intend with a comment as such. Besides, if God didn't have a sense of humor, we wouldn't have platypuses (or is plural platypi? ROFL), belly buttons, or Richard Simmonds).

Three at-home tests didn't help the worry. All three in a row were virtually exactly the same--they could all go either way. That was a Monday night. Tuesday morning, I was at the Pregnancy Resource Center here in Tyler and, after nearly an hour of preaching, the liquid hit the tube and in a split second was positive...I had just found out the most life-changing news I could ever know...and I get hit with another hour of preaching. Don't get me started on that place.

Carrying and raising the baby was an instantaneous choice for me. I knew I had other options, and, in many ways, those options had their own benefits...for both me and the embryo. But, the other two alternatives weren't for me. I am a hard-core proponent of a woman's right to choose, and am so grateful to live in a society where the choice was mine to make...and I made, and continue to make the same decision...I will give life (physical) to this child, and I will give life (spiritual/philosophical/emotional) to this little soul.

That was, is, and will be my choice...

...until I pass that choice on to him or her.

It was good that I made the decision early on and grounded myself in it. Overwhelmingly, people have been supportive. Matter-of-factly, some of the greatest support came from those whom I expected it from the least. But there have been, just as in any situation, those who do not agree with my choice. Again, ironically, that opposition being from those I didn't expect.

But, as my dad (Joe) always says, it is what it is...

...and, again, it is my choice.

So here we are today. Starting a blog. I have no idea if I will keep up with it. I hope that I can just because I think it will be special to look back a year or ten from now and see what I was feeling or thinking throughout this new journey. Hopefully, although I can't promise, they won't be this long. I am a writer, remember, but I am also trying to keep in mind my audience. Maybe I can at least make it entertaining for you.

Today itself has been one of those "pregnant" days. When I got up, I just thought I was feeling a little hung-over from either not sleeping well enough, or from sleeping too well (yes, that happens, too). Suffering from the beginning of what will ultimately become pregnant-/mommy-hood, I actually did my make-up today, dressed up (relatively), put on some jewelry. I made it through my class okay, but by one o'clock, I was pretty much broken. I felt sapped...worse than a juiced orange. I felt like a new baby myself who couldn't even balance her head. Tried to eat lunch. Took a nap. Ate some more. Still felt like crap.

Welcome to the beginning of the end of the first trimester of the first pregnancy.

My two worst complaints: the lethargy and the dehydration. God, it's terrible...for me, at least. I am a naturally dehydrated body (for some unknown reason), and the doctor did tell me it would cause me even more problems now. But Holy Christ, I sometimes feel like I am dying.

But that's really, so far at least, the worst of it.

Truth be told, if the pregnancy was the only thing I had to worry about, life would be virtually easy...and even happy.

Honestly, it's all the other things of life that are the hardest part...those things, situations, people that would be there with or without a baby-to-be. People's unnecessary drama. The weight of difficult decisions. Dealing now with a biological family I never wanted to see again. The baby's progressing just fine, but bad new with my test results and the inability to take a drug my body really needs. With school on top of it.

Yes, indeed, the baby is behaving his or herself.

It's all the adults in my little corner of the world who need to get their act together. LOL.

On an ending note, I had a sonogram this week. Just like the first one (which was a week before), he or she was supremely active, bouncing around all over the place, waving his or her arms, doing a sweet little pasa doble. I say sweet now, because I can't hear it. :). By the third picture, he or she had calmed down and relaxed, although the hiccups caught him or her pretty good. It was a very special time, especially for this early on in the pregnancy (I'm only about twelve weeks, btw), since I can't feel him or her yet. And it was a special time for the special friend who witnessed it with me.

Overall, I am happy. No, this is not an ideal situation. My life has already changed, and the baby is not even here yet, so I can only begin to imagine what is to come. But I think I am capable. I am not perfect, and I think knowing that will be a good thing. Maybe it's not a happiness of elation or overwhelming joy, but it is a contended happiness. Content to be who I am, where I am, and to be that person going where I am going.

Oh, and I am registered at Babies R Us.

And, no, the baby's not going to call me Mom...more about that later.

Oh, and names.

Oh, and we (me) are hoping for a little girl. The other day, we had a little girl's heartrate. It's nothing to send us out buying dresses yet, but it's a good statistical vote of confidence in our direction.

To you, if you have read this far, you deserve a brownie. Go have one...or a cookie.

And I hope you will read in the future.

Until then, Spero/JennahRose.