July 25, 2011 | Mr.P

Mr.P passed away yesterday. That sentence leaves me feeling completely blank.

Last night at dinner, before I found out, I told Dimitris about him. There was a man sitting at the patio table closest to us, facing my way. He was wearing a light purple shirt and looked just like him, beard and all. I could not stop staring and it quickly filled my eyes with tears. Dimitris asked why I was crying and I couldn't bottle it up anymore.

I have been thinking about Mr.P, Mrs.P and Brian so often lately. Every time I pick up the camera here, Mr.P is the first person I think of. He was the first person to put a real camera in my hands and I fell in love. He taught me all he knew. With my head hanging out the window and my headphones on, I cried the entire drive home from Sitia to Chania last Tuesday night. I couldn't stop thinking of him and I couldn't stop feeling my skin burn knowing I had let so much time go by without expressing my love or appreciation to him.

I'd talked to Josh recently about wanting to reach out but not wanting to do so once I found out he was sick. I didn't want it to seem out of pity. Way to go, Jenna.  He just listened and told me he understood. And once again, I never reached out.

Last night, after seeing this man at dinner, I couldn't not explain to Dimitris all of the thoughts I'd been holding in my head all summer. I had not mentioned Mr.P to anyone here in Greece. I would sit alone with my thoughts every and every time I picked up the camera. Dimitris made a good point: when you know you care for someone then it should never matter what distance has happened or if the other person would like to hear from you or not.

I wished that I had reached out before he got sick but I didn't. And there was nothing I could do about that but reach out to them now and tell them how I feel and tell them they're in my thoughts. Always. So finally, after seeing this man at dinner, taking it as a sign and talking to Dimitris, I knew I needed to write Mr.P in that moment. I went directly to a computer at the cyber cafe where Dimitris worked and opened an email to Mr. and Mrs. P.

I didn't know where to begin and I couldn't write what I wanted to express. I started writing to Beth in hopes that it would help to sort my words and allow them to flow. I ended up deleting my email to Beth and realizing I just needed to bite the bullet and be myself. I needed to just let the Powers know how much they'd been in my thoughts and my heart - even before Pat's cancer.

Five minutes into my email I packed up to catch a ride home on the motorcycle with Haris, D's brother, otherwise it would be a long overnight at the cafe with no transportation. We got home a few minutes later and I walked through the doors directly to the computer to resume writing. I pulled up gmail and Facebook and a new message from Josh popped up in the bottom corner. I clicked on his message and all it said was "Mr.P passed away today."

My heart is still in my throat.

I am laying at the most exotic beach I've ever seen right now. I call actually call it Paradise. It really is paradise. However, I want no part in being here right now - other than to feel like I'm in an alternate reality where there are not so many wonderful people on the other side of the world aching over such an amazing loss.

I want to be home with them right now. I want to be with Josh and Brian. I want to be with my boys and with my twin, giving them all my love.

I am so sorry you are gone, Mr.P. I am so sorry.

April 11, 2009 | Detached

I've really been here for a year? Time goes by so quickly. I feel like I am always on vacation, always detached from everything.

I need to become happy with myself. Why am I always detached? 

August 8, 2009 | Jamaica Pond

It's shocking how much beauty surrounds us and how seldom we stop to take it in. I'm at Jamaica Pond right now, sitting on a blanket in the sun. It's beautiful. The pond is glistening as if it's been sprinkled glitter. It's so serene. It actually gives me chills. There's a sailboat skimming across in the distance and dozens of people walking by, wandering, holding hands and just being.

May 20, 2010 | Addiction Sucks

Mom is on the phone right now, running countless sentences together and taking more than occasional drags of her cigarette. She said she is sick right now...that she "doesn't get sick often" but happens to be at the moment.  Unfortunately that line is told to me every time we speak.  She is always sick.  I wonder when she'll understand the permanency of that word when it comes to her health.

It takes a lot of brain power to pick apart her sentences and paint the picture she is trying to create.  Stories run together, thoughts overlap and tears are bound to burst out without warning.  I feel for her.  I feel bad for her. I get so angry sometimes but then I realize just how deep and dark her world seems to her - how deep and dark it seems to me.  And I have the glory of being hundreds of miles away.  She said Jake threw her at least eight feet across the room the other night.  I wish I could believe this was exaggerated.  Given the prescriptions, the history, the temperament and the addictions, I don't doubt it for a moment.  Sometimes I just want to throw in the towel for her. 

She started some story about someone bringing a beautiful ceramic mug into the bathroom...I'm not sure who it was about. She was concerned of it breaking - as many things do there. She ventured into the bathroom as she's telling me in great distress about losing the fight of this mug. I still don't know what happened to the mug. Of course there is deeper meaning.  The mug and the bathroom weren't important. It was the point that her words hold no ground. They hold no ground in her own home.  And the bathroom of course can't be used for normal hygiene and routine; this i'm only reminded of when her voice starts to quiver over the syringe she finds laying next to her sink. Without any doubt it belongs to Jake. She knows this, I know this. Yet she repeats the bullshit that he feeds to her about friends being in and out and how of course it is not his. She knows, I know. She hates it, I hate it.

I'm jaded by any family addiction at this point.  It's been too long and my eyes were far too open to miss a beat. My mom's haven't been. Jake specifically, I have watched him spiral down for years. I didn't know the intensity of it until the past few but I've been watching it happen from the start.  Mom always chose to turn and look the other way.  Now she deals with it on a daily basis. She just told me a story about Jake from the other day.  Shannon had bought him McDonalds (this is the part where my mothers voice sounds like a river of flowing tears) and she explains how he shoved handfuls of french fries into his mouth. As my mother tells it through her tears: "the french fries, long, long french fries shoved into his mouth, french fries hanging out of his mouth, held in his fist and piled on his lap.  And he slept that way...for two hours...(dramatic pause)...because he had taken his pills." Add a few giant sobs and breaths of disbelief to the slurred and tear saturated words and you get a more realistic feel of her scenario replay. 

I don't know what to do with these conversations. I have to stop her. One story sparks another story, which only spirals into yet another memory that sparks yet another. Eventually, within 5 minutes, I've been given a general recap of information and updates - enough to fill pages I'd never want to reread -  that have probably only occurred within a one or two day span.  What do I say to her?  I end every conversation with "I love you" and "I am proud of you."  What am I proud of?

Proud that she is alive, really.  No one else is going to tell her, so I do. I don't know that I always mean it in the moment. But I do know that she always needs to hear it.

"You can't reason with a drug addict and you can't reason with a two year old." she always tells me now. At least her eyes are finally opening.


I'm babysitting and they are about to be home.  Time to pop on the headphones and go home. I want nothing more than to shower and crawl into bed.... wake up at the crack of dawn and catch the first train to yoga. Sometimes I feel guilty that I have this freedom.  I know my mom once did...when she was my age. If only I could give it back to her.

goodnight.

January 27, 2015 | Maktub

A guy stopped me on the trail a moment ago to ask if I had money for the bus. He was clearly struggling and stressed. I only had a 20. I wish I were in a better financial space or I would have just given it to him. I should always carries ones. Anyway, he thanked me just for taking the time to check and talk to him. He hugged me and was on his way.

People are amazing beings. I really do think all of that comes from the heart. I refuse to believe our hearts start out as anything but pure and good. I know horrible things are done by people and to people and those things I will never, ever, understand. For me, finding the beauty has always felt instinctive. I think I get that from my mother and will always be eternally grateful for that. 

"Let the beauty of what you love be what you do." 

This quote by Rumi has always been one of my favorite and keeps floating through my mind. Up until this moment I've thought of the "do" as what you 'do' for work, for career, for money. After sitting here writing and hearing that quote play over and over in my mind, I'm starting to think that the 'do' isn't meant to be a job. Not a job but your moment, your disposition, your day. I love finding the sunshine. I love meeting new people and sharing all the smiles and feeling that amazingness of a strangers heart, even if just in passing. This is what I do. Whether it's during a day off at the river, helping a patient take meds, teaching baby Indy to weight-bare or talking to strangers at the bus stop; in all of those things the beauty of what I love is what I'm doing. 

This past year has been built around human connection and really listening to my heart - even when it leaves me stressed out and frazzled. Those feelings never last and chances are if I'm feeling them, it's because I'm working through something and know the reward on the other end is meant to be. 

Maktub: it is written. 

January 25, 2015 | Men Are Actually Awesome

A new year for new things, right? I looked at this journal and I started it almost exactly a year ago. 2014 - what a year you were. A year of reflection and decision making for the future? A year to discover I want to be with men? Most importantly to me, a year to discover that the decision to be with men is okay, and that they aren't all assholes. All of that realization took far more trust and energy than ever expected. Although, I'm not sure I had any idea what to expect, really.

I think half my distractions in life come from insecurities. More than half, I'm almost sure. And by almost sure, I mean I am definitely sure. I'm so wrapped up in my head that it only gets harder to start a flow and put my thoughts on paper. I used to have such a groove for this - for writing - what happened to that? 

I miss feeling invisible and blending in. I miss being in a place that had no distractions and felt like home. 

March 10, 2014 | Bon Iver

"Sometimes we forget what we got --

who we are and who we are not. 

There is so much more in love than black and white

Gotta keep it loose, child, keep it light

But the people on the street, out on buses or on feet, we all got the same blood flow 

I'm in love with a girl who's in love with the world though I can't help but follow

I know someday she is bound to go away and stay over the rainbow"

I am so thankful for music.