Mourning in Small Packages

My dog is dead.

I keep having to remind myself, because everything seems so normal. I’m drinking water with exactly three ice cubes, I’m wearing my grey-striped slippers with the fluffy lining, and my diffuser is sending lavender-scented steam curling into the air. But I’m writing about my dead dog. My Rosie, my golden doodle, my best friend, one of the few beings I love unconditionally with No Strings Attached, my family. She’s dead. The moment it happened, I felt nothing. I knew she was scheduled to be put down at 1:30 pm. That way, we could let her go in peace before the cancer in her mouth got too bad. (How do you know when cancer is too bad? It’s certainly never good, never mediocre.) I woke up with my heart in my throat, breathless and choking on air. “Today is the day my best friend dies” is a bit melodramatic, but it was my first thought of the day and it was true and it hurt. It was 10 am, then 11 am, then 12 pm, then 1 pm. I booked it to class but I couldn’t stop shivering, couldn’t stop checking my phone for any updates, for The Moment. Would I feel it? Would I just ~know~? It was 1:15, then 1:30, then 2 pm and I hadn’t heard anything. I felt like my entire body was a coke can and the world was shaking me up. But how do you ask your family, “Have they killed our dog yet?” I texted my sister “Is it done” and nothing more. At 2:06 pm, she responded, “yes”. At 2:08 pm, my mom texted me. “Baruch Dayan HaEmet.” Blessed is the true Judge. But I felt nothing. After a day of pre-mourning, of shaking and praying and near-tears, I was numb. I wrote a few paragraphs for an essay, made some Asian-style meatballs, and sang along to Hamilton. After about two hours of Netflix, I headed back into my room. And then suddenly all the oxygen was gone and I was on the ground sobbing, sobbing, curled face down on the carpet, shaking and clenching my fists. Because what the hell am I supposed to do without Rosie? If I love an animal that much how do they have the nerve to get cancer twice? How dare she age, how dare she die? It felt like my heart and lungs were being squeezed, everything hurt, but then it just stopped. I brushed myself off, stood up, and went on with my day. My dog is dead and it seems as though heartbreak is coming along in small packages, neatly tied in mourning black. Maybe this is super meaningful, and shows that God only gives us what we can handle. Maybe the bursts of sunshine in between my dark places show that despite everything, life is so beautiful. Maybe it shows that humans desperately crave symbolic meaning in everything, because if it’s not significant or beautifully phrased, I’m technically an anxious, twitchy little stressball who cries about once or twice a day over her recently deceased dog. Hell if I know. I’m only twenty and am going through the stages of grief, so I can’t possibly come to a neat and logical conclusion. There is none. Of course I’m glad my best friend left this world peacefully, before cancer made her suffer. And I am so thankful she was in my life, starting as a hyperactive, bad at bladder control, tail-wagging piece of fluff. I’d love to say that every time I come crashing breathless and sobbing onto my carpet, I’ll thank whoever is “up there” for the opportunity to have had such a fluffy little blessing in my life. But grief doesn’t work that way. Heartbreak isn’t romantic, it hurts and it’s messy and when you end up crying, you’re trying to figure out how to breathe. Not having some Precious Grateful Moment. I guess I’ll just let my pain be pain, treat it when respect when it comes and not mask it in something that looks and sounds prettier. My dog Rosie died yesterday. There is nothing beautiful about that. But my leftover meatballs tasted great, and I just saw a great play, and my nails are the perfect shade of emerald green. I’m hurting so badly. But my friend gave me a great hug today. Small packages. Let the unwrapping begin. 

Taking Time To Breathe

Yesterday, tropical storm Hermine was supposed to arrive. I spent a great deal of the day glaring out my window at the dull drizzle that splattered down the panes. I had been hoping for torrents of rain, furious gusts of wind, and the low grumble of thunder. A sky full of heavy grey clouds and the occasional spatter of raindrops- that was what the heavens decided to provide. I spent the day feeling anxious and claustrophobic. Trapped. I promised myself, after trying to bury my pesky feelings in mind-numbing hours of Netflix, that I would go out as soon as I could. So this morning I packed a sandwich, water bottle, and my roommate’s headphones, and drove to a nearby nature reserve. I was hoping for a release of whatever had been clenching my stomach. For a breath or two that carried peace, not the usually sharp intake of oxygen. The sky was still layered with a thick haze, but beginning my hike, it felt soft instead of confining. Comforting, diluting the harsh sunlight that usually accompanies the last trails of summer. The wind smelled of pine and lake water and the slightest beginnings of autumn. I started off on the path, my mouth curved upwards but my mind still in full gear. The woods around me were stunning, but my phone oozing Drake’s “One Dance” through the headphones seemed to cheapen the view. I turned off the music, closed my eyes, and tried to breathe. Now all I could hear was the roar of traffic, the rush of hungry metal machines. I felt like I couldn’t escape the breathless pace and suffocation that I was so used to succumbing to. I turned back toward the lake and it sparkled despite the sunless sky. Green, sapphire, and misty grey- like an opal. A turtle was basking on a log, a tiny red mushroom was sprouting on a tree root. The path was strewn with soggy brown pine needles, and they felt gentle and springy underfoot. Painstakingly slowly, I began to shed myself. I swallowed visual details like they were bites of chocolate cake, each revelation waking me up and soothing me at the same time. I passed the nature reserve portion of the hike, where injured animals were sheltered behind a fence. A large owl regarded me with sharp onyx eyes, and I spontaneously dropped a curtsy and started up a conversation. I spoke to him for a good few minutes, feeling lighter with each word I passed on to my feathery listener. I wished him well when I left, and thanked him for his time. The rumble of cars did not lessen, but it was like background music- present but not noted. I knew I had homework, had a meeting at four pm and had to cook the shrimp before it went bad and to water the plants and straighten my room and do the dishes and read one book and two articles for class- but breathing in the scent of the woods, my responsibilities were placed gently and quietly on the backburner. It took me over an hour and a half to fully release the feeling of being on edge, and to feel grounded again. Life is so messy and full of distractions that it’s easy to forget how to breathe in the good stuff, instead of the smog of stress that constantly hangs overhead. 90 minutes for me to feel empowered and healthy again, not some quivering version of myself staring out at a lack of tropical storm. My point is, remember to take time to breathe. Re-center yourself. Being anxious and relentlessly busy is not a sign of success. Well-being is. After my hike around the lake, I sat on a slotted wooden bench, inhaling the sight of the glittering water and emerald lining of trees. I listened to rustling, snapping of twigs, and that ceaseless thunder of traffic. “I am here. I am grounded. I belong.” My thoughts sang, turning the refrain over and over to see how it tasted on my tongue. (It tasted wonderful.) Of course now I am back in “normal life,” tackling my to-do list and stressing over classes. But for a brief moment, I was completely whole, and it was enormously relieving and empowering. I challenge you to do the same. Find your breath again and allow yourself the time you need. You are here. You are grounded. You belong. 

I Love All Of You

I post quite extensively on social media about how life is beautiful and how you are beautiful, and how happy I am. These statements are true of course, but I sometimes neglect to mention that there is more to the world than glittery sunshine with pots of gold and Lisa Frank rainbows. I usually fail to bring up my anxiety disorder. How I can’t walk into a room of people without assuming everyone low-key hates me. That doesn’t make my happiness any less truthful or valid. Society teaches us to only show our smiles to the world, not the rest of our stunningly human messes. And social media only engenders this to an unhealthy degree. Look at us and how happy we are, and how perfect everything is! Cue perfect lighting, perfect angles, perfectly worded statuses. Which is all completely ok! Better than ok! I am so happy you have these gifts in your life! AND also your life is not what I just described. Maybe you have anxiety too. Or something else. My stunningly messy human friends, I love you so extensively for ALL of your emotions. You are beautiful when you are belly laughing. Or crying with snot dangling from your nose. When you feel like you are the only person in the world. Or are cripplingly afraid. Your emotions are so valid and necessary. You are alive and that is so hella cool. We have such messes and they are so much deeper and more meaningful than just happiness. Love yourself for everything that you are, or maybe just start smaller by loving a few things at a time. Totally fine. You are not there yet, and that is just as beautiful as the final product. You are an art form unfolding. I am not defined by my rambling (but well-intentioned) pep talks, where I practically sing Disney-style about how much I love everyone. Or by my time spent sobbing and gasping for air on the tiles of bathroom floors, feeling breathless and alone. Maybe as humans we’re not meant to be defined at all. Like when you say, “Oh, so-and-so, she’s so ____ all the time!” Maybe she’s not. She’s everything all the time, she is light and chaos and human. It is so beautiful and shitty to be human. Isn’t that cool? I am so anxious and so happy and I love you so much, sometimes all at once. So maybe you just want to use social media to portray the joy in your life. Totally valid! And so next time you’re comparing yourself to someone else’s majestic timeline (they’re so eloquent! So well-travelled! So photogenic!) take a step back and realize that they’re also not sharing the rest of their mess. They are so much more than a list of accomplishments on a two-dimensional screen. Maybe they’re allergic to Chinese food, and have a fear of thunderstorms. Who knows? It doesn’t make them any less wonderful, but it definitely makes them human. Let’s go back to that time earlier in this post, where I told you that you were an art form unfolding. Maybe I stole that from somewhere (?) but I really like it. Is that pretentious to say? Yep! Am I still proud? Yep! You are so beautiful- every piece of you. Remember that you are made up of so many delightful, sparkling things and they shine out through your eyes and have the capability to change the world. So go for it. You are messy and deep and beautiful and powerful and have a gift to offer. Be freely exuberant and terrified and furious and broken and strong. I love all of you. 

I hope I've left my mark

It didn't hit me how soon my program was ending until last week. I was doing laundry with a small, Filipino woman named Ester- a quiet woman with a huge heart and a sharp tongue if you dare mix the darks and the lights together. Usually she keeps to herself, being one of the rare adults who actually acts like an adult. But that day, over the routine motion of drying and folding, she asked, "So, when does your program end?" I was surprised, but explained that I was leaving in about a month. Ester looked me straight in the eye and replied in her sweet, quiet accent, "That's sad, I'm going to miss you. You are one of the hard workers here. And you only talk kindly about people, not like some of the other girls here. We are sad to see you go." Oh. My. Freaking. Gosh. I was so close to bawling on all the fresh laundry. I had never even heard her speak that much at one time, let alone say something so personal and kind. The fact that this strong, relentlessly hardworking woman was going to miss me touched my heart. As selfish as it sounds, I honestly want my new Disney family to miss me when I leave in 22 painfully short days. I want to have been such a loving, positive force in their lives that they feel my lack of presence. Is that self-centered? Probably, but this is an honest, "hi I'm human" blog. Not an "I'm a perfect radiant nugget of impeccable selflessness" blog. So perhaps I want to have been inspiring. Maybe a few years down the line, my coordinators will think, "Hey, remember when that weird CP Jenn wanted us to have an Easter egg hunt during work? That didn't entirely suck, we should do that again." Or, "Remember when it was pouring rain outside and that crazy kid Jenn had towel sliding races with her coworkers down the hallway? Fun stuff right there." Disney, the exhausting, magic-making love of my life: I hope I've made my mark. I hope these past few months I've been able to contribute my own pixie dust, my own sunshine. I put sticky notes with positive messages on the mirrors ("on a scale of 1 to 10, you're a 100!" "hope today is as amazing is you are!"), draw ~albeit terrible~ pictures for the performers on their costume labels, and try to feed people whenever I can (grandma status). Of course there's that thing where I'm human, so I've had my fair share of complaining and grumpy shifts. But if I've made at least one person's day a little bit brighter, this journey has all been worth it. And I still have 22 more days to make magic and toss out terrible puns like word confetti. To support my coworkers in any way possible, to spend late nights laughing with my roommates, to bake even more cookies (goodbye paychecks, hello sugar rush), to make a difference. Because Disney World is just a place, a physical shell of an opportunity. But as my homeboy Walt Disney says, "You can design and create, and build the most wonderful place in the world. But it takes people to make the dream a reality." It's the people here that have made my program so amazing- my new family, my coordinators and managers, even that guy who runs the food truck and somehow knows my name. I owe them so much, and I can't wait to fill the next 22 days with new best friends and a whole lot of Florida sunshine.

Halfway there

Two months and five days from today, I’ll be spending my last day working for Disney World. I wish I could spin off some teary, eloquent sentence about how time travels quietly and fleetly, but all that comes to mind are expletives. Around two months ago I started my life from scratch. New state with new job and new people. Holding tightly to a relentless thirst for adventure and a yearning to change the world- and apparently a lot of clichés because this sentence is making me cringe. In all seriousness, I really did begin a new life for myself, and it’s been a wonderful journey so far. I’ve learned how to keep friends that I know are going to support me, and let negative people slide smoothly out of my life. I can cook, budget (though this is a work in progress), and basically pretend to be an adult if necessary. I’ve learned that there are some challenges I can’t handle, and it’s best to just simply let them go. For example, around a month ago I was assigned to work backstage the Beauty and the Beast show. I was beyond ecstatic to be coming back home to my theater roots, but the experience was far from what I expected. The costume changes and other such quickly moving tasks stressed me out, and during one of the shows I had a full-blown panic attack. I was mortified that my anxiety was getting in the way of my professional life, and angry at myself for not being able to control my own head. But when given the choice to stay with the show or go return to my old location, I chose to leave. My body and my mental health are my priority, and as painful as it was to swallow my pride, I’ve been finding it easier lately to say, “You know what, this is too much for me. I need to take a step back for now.” So in the end I came here to learn about Disney and costuming shenanigans, and have learned a hell of a lot more about myself. It’s like growing up but without taxes and probably slightly less responsibilities! And not to sound like an infomercial, but wait- there’s more! Time may have flown, but I still have two months left to learn, grow, and buy Mickey ice cream bars. Two more months of my incredible new friends, of breathtaking Florida sunsets and days filled with making magic. I try to appreciate every moment here, even the late hours of laundry and long bus rides, because soon I’ll go back to “real life” and wallow distastefully in my longing to be working for Disney again. Two more months to make a positive impact in this crazy sunshine state, all whilst learning about myself and building career goals and writing pretentious blog posts. Challenge accepted. 

My First Magical Moment

I was at Epcot with two other newly-made friends when the magic happened. We had been walking through the park for almost an hour, exchanging stories about our new jobs and Mickey Mouse-filled lives. The nighttime breeze was refreshing but chilly, bringing goosebumps to my arms and sharpening the sight of the full moon’s path over the water. A voice came over the park, promising a fireworks show in just five minutes, so naturally people began to squeeze around the fence that overlooked the polished lake. I hadn’t seen the show before, so my friends and I joined the madness and slightly uncomfortable proximity. As the music began in all of its cheesy (but wonderful) Disney glory, fireworks began to go off and the globe in the center of the lake flashed images and stories. It was stunning, but my breath was taken not by the loud bursts of color in the sky but a little girl on her dad’s shoulders. She was around three or four, with wispy blonde hair in pigtails and the biggest smile I have ever seen. Her chubby little arms were waving and pumping in the air, as she literally cheered on the fireworks by shouting, “Woohoo! Great one! Let’s go!” Like the world’s tiniest cheerleader, she squealed and laughed and screamed for her favorite torrents of vivid light. Her eyes and smile held so much happiness, and her fists were thrust as high as she could hold them- it was all I could do not to cry. What if people always took in life like that? Cheering on the world, even though the noise and smoke. Even through the crowds and new experiences and what was probably a really long day. Watching the reds and golds and blues of the fireworks reflecting on her tiny cheeks made me feel just as magical as she must have been feeling. What a wonderful thing to be young and vibrant, I thought, and how amazing it must feel to be so connected with life and its immeasurable beauty. And then, in the final sizzle of champagne colored lights that dripped from the sky, I realized I had that choice. Every single day. Cliché? Oh definitely. But magical? More doubtless than a little girl cheering on the sky. 

Destiny, dear heart

Eight days and three hours and fifty-five minutes. Because of what’s going to be happening in a week (attending the Disney College Program, for those few who I haven’t ranted endlessly to about my excitement) I have decided to pick up blogging again. While I haven’t started packing, and still have a few more forms to halfheartedly skim through and sign, my heart couldn’t be more ready. I should know- it starts racing like I’m being chased by demon cauliflowers whenever I think about my nearing trip. Some people might mistake this for fear, but by now I know better. My body is just preparing itself to be better, stronger. My heart is sending me signals that it is strong and courageous and ready for this princess-filled adventure. After volunteering in South Africa, I have learned that the more your heart beats for something, the worthier it is of your time and the more it will make you a better person. Now, I’m not talking about things like entering a worm eating contest or free-falling from an airplane. Though more power to you if that’s what you want in life. It’s those life changing, good-doing, out of your comfort zone adventures that can really let fear in. A month or so before my trip to South Africa, I was nearly convinced by a friend that I should cancel everything. It was far too dangerous, too much money, and a waste of time- what use does a communications major have with baby baboons? Did I want to get kidnapped? It was terrifying, these potential endings to what was supposed to be a fairy tale adventure. But after all the lectures and 3 AM nightmares, I still would not give in to my racing heart. This was my organ inside my body and it was going to listen to me. I would not choose fear as a way of deciding my life. As you’re probably more than aware, my time in South Africa was amazing, life changing, blah blah blah, cue the cliché Facebook statuses and pictures of my favorite monkeys. So I’ve decided to make all my decisions with bravery- you see despite my aversion to conflicts and anything that might have a negative outcome, there is a lion inside of me. A very small one, as I still can’t break five foot two. But when I feel that something is meant to happen, it roars until my heart starts pounding so I can spring into action. Your typical destiny-conquering stuff. So while spending the next five months in a new place with new people is, well, new, I am unabashedly unafraid. When my heart wakes me up at odd hours during the night, having some sort of wild fiesta under my ribcage, I whisper, “It’s ok. We’ll be there soon.” When I first saw the Disney College Program online, the lion inside of me roared and roared and roared. Forget anxiety. Forget fear in all of its misguided help. And forget my creative writing teacher’s lessons about the dangers of clichés. (For now). This is destiny, dear heart. Get ready.