Jillian's Travels

This morning, I attended the funeral for a 16-year-old boy who sat in my class when he was in 8th grade.  His name is Alex Koser and he was shot and killed by his stepfather last Sunday.  I have hardly been able to stop thinking about it since I heard the news.  When he was in my class, he was…troubled.  He did not pay attention.  He did not do his homework.  He drew all over his papers and all over himself.  He was not very polite or nice to me or anyone else.  Those are the kids who tend to get my attention, whether they like it or not.  I am drawn to them, won’t leave them alone, sometimes making them hate me, but most of the time making them see that somebody cares about them and wants to know them and their troubled mind.  Kids like Alex are the causes of my sleepless nights, the reasons I feel so emotionally and physically exhausted almost every single day.  They are also the reason I have been doing this job for almost ten years.  During the funeral today, one of the ministers made a point to say that it took him a long time to like Alex, and everyone in the congregation nervously laughed, probably because they could relate.  But then he quickly said that once you got Alex to break down his walls, once you got past his tattoos, his mohawk, his piercings, you saw his oh-so-tender heart, and you started loving him.  I collapsed when I heard those words because that was exactly what happened with me and Alex in room E109 at Hopewell Middle School.  The minister went on to say that too many of us would never have pushed past his tough exterior, instead we would clutch our purses tighter to our sides, avert our eyes, and mumble some comment about Kids These Days.  He is right, and you know it.  I know it.  As the service went on, I kept focusing on the urn on the alter, filled with the ashes of a vivacious teenage boy, and the scripture from Ecclesiastes 3:20  “All go to the same place; all come from dust, and to dust all return.” We are all the same.

Tonight, I will get in my car with my boyfriend and two of my best friends and go to Trinity Anglican Mission Church for the Ash Wednesday service.  Ash Wednesday is the first day of the season of Lent, which is the 40 days leading up to Easter Sunday, celebrating the raising of Jesus Christ from the dead.  Tonight’s service will call on its attendees to make sacrifices in their everyday lives as a way to be mindful of the ultimate sacrifice that was made for all people when Jesus was crucified on a cross to save us from eternal separation from God. Most Christians choose to give up something for Lent, and ideally every time you crave that something, you are to be mindful of the ultimate sacrifice given for you and be prayerful and thankful.  I have not yet decided what I am going to give up this year.  In the past, I have given up Diet Coke, chocolate, meat, and hitting the snooze button on the alarm clock.  (That one actually stuck, and I sleep so much better now because of it.)  I am hoping that in tonight’s Ash Wednesday service, it will become clear to me what I need to sacrifice.

Now, friends, I issue a challenge to you.  Call your grandmother.  Call your parents.  Call your children, your grandchildren, your cousins.  Make a date with your friends and tell them how much they mean to you.  Today as I was watching all of those mourning teenagers, wandering around that church, hugging each other, not knowing what to say, and grown boys sobbing on a stage because they miss their best friend, I was reminded of the importance of affection, of kind words, of thoughtfulness, and of the beauty of having people in our lives who love us.

Peace be with you.

The inspiration for this post derives from a quotation attributed to three men:  TH Thomspon, John Watson and/or Plato.  The original quotation is, “Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.”  The first time I read this it resonated in my thoughts for hours.  I started to meditate on it and apply it to my relationships.  I try to gauge my reactions to friends, family, coworkers, students, and my boyfriend with this thought, “How would I want him/her to respond right now?”  This pause causes me to filter my words and actions, and has saved countless arguments and hurt feelings.  And I hope that it has made someone’s day, anyone’s day, a little bit better.  I try to apply it to the teenagers I pass in the hallways of Riverwood each day. Could I be the first (or only) person to smile at them today?  If that answer is possibly yes, then I must rise above my bad day, my personal woes, my selfish tendencies and greet them with a smile, a compliment, whatever I can do.

I want to be an exceptionally nice person.  I want to glow with love, affection, and kindness.  I have to remind myself every day of this.  Sometimes I forget.  I fail…a lot.  I am writing this post to immortalize these thoughts and make this a global commitment.  Hold me accountable, friends.  Some days it’s harder than others, but think about how much better our daily lives would be if more of us tried to be kinder than necessary.

Yesterday was my 30th birthday.  30.  New decade.  Am I where I thought I would be ten years ago?  Absolutely not.  And you know what?  That is a really great and wonderful thing to have gotten wrong.

See…I love my birthday.  I really do.  I always have.  I think it’s because growing up, none of my cousins or friends had birthdays around mine, so it was always special.  When you grow up with 20+ (I lost count) cousins, it’s hard to feel singled-out.  We almost always celebrated it over Labor Day weekend, so it was such a fun way to wrap up the end of summer and celebrate being back in school.  (Nerd.  I know.)  My mother never failed to have a custom-made cake ordered from her baker friend, and most parties were held at Dalton Parks and Recreation Center, up on the hill overlooking the playground.  I never stopped loving having one day that celebrated me and only me, and this year was certainly no exception.  Everyone in my life prepped Boyfriend on what to expect so that there was no way he was set up for failure.  (Sister:  No, really Jon, her birthday is a really big deal.  I don’t think you understand.  You better make it good.)  Thanks, Sister.  Anyway, he really did make it special:  Cirque du Soleil, shopping day carrying my bags, dinner at the most fun new restaurant in town, a big fun party on Sunday afternoon, cookie cake, roses, and a runner’s watch, complete with GPS and a heart-rate monitor.  He is amazing and I do not deserve him.

And then, there is everyone else…wow.  I am truly humbled by the affection, the attention, the generosity, the thoughtfulness that was bestowed upon me this weekend.  Who am I to deserve such gestures?  How did I collect such outrageously thoughtful friends?  The gifts, while so unexpected, were some of the most thoughtful surprises I have ever received.  And dozens of my friends who came out to celebrate with me at Ormsby’s, making me feel so loved.  And all the cards and notes and texts and Facebook Wall messages that completely humbled me, bringing me to tears.  My heart swells with gratitude.

I am not worthy.

But I am thankful.

Thank you.  All of you.

I started this blog in July of 2009, the summer I traveled alone through Spain and Italy.  The blog’s original purpose was for my mother’s and friends’ peace of mind as I went abroad.  I posted updates as often as I could and the experience of documenting my trip on a widely-read blog enriched my trip more than I ever could have imagined.  (See Archives for those posts!)

When I got home from that trip, I missed writing about my days, so I decided to keep writing my travel blog, even if I wasn’t getting on airplanes all the time.  See, I want to live in a way that makes most days feel I am traveling through life, being adventurous, feeling in awe of my surroundings, and soaking up the culture of whomever I am surrounded by.

Last summer, I again traveled alone, but this time instead of going abroad, I went to California.  What a gorgeous part of our country!  Then in August I went to Colorado with girlfriends.  And again, I blogged about it and felt that my travels were richer because of the posts. (See Archives!)

And this summer…well, things have been different than the last two years.  First of all, I’m not embarrassed to say that I just didn’t have the money to go on a Grand Adventure.  Fulton County teachers had even more days of pay taken out of both summer checks this year.  In addition to that lost income, I moved apartments at the end of May.  Not cheap.  And did I mention that I live alone now instead of with a roommate?  Man, it sure was nice to split rent and bills for a couple of years.  (I miss you, Josh Armentrout.  And your monthly check.)  So where did that leave me?  In my new one-bedroom apartment, that’s where.  I did take a little jaunt around the Southeast to Charleston and Savannah and PCB with Boyfriend and family, and while that was a lovely time, I struggled with longing for a big trip, a solo adventure.

So, what did I do with myself all seven weeks of summer?  I cooked great meals.  (Ask my boyfriend!)  I lunched with friends.  (Remember teachers eat sack lunches on a 20-minute break during the school year.) I read books, magazines, NPR articles, and cookbooks.  I discovered new music artists.  (Favorite find:  Matthew and the Atlas) I watched The Bachelorette on DVR with Kimber every Tuesday afternoon.  (Team Ben) I adopted a kitten named Pepper.  (Cutest kitten ever.) I went to the lake every chance I got.  (Thank God for friends with family lakehouses.)  I did projects I never seem to get to on weekends.  It was lovely, and I was never ever bored.

But you know what my favorite summer activity was?  I started running again.  I fell out of love with running a couple of years ago, but I felt a craving for it this past spring, so as soon as I faced luxurious weeks off, I knew I had no more excuses.  I set a goal to be able to run five miles by the end of summer.  And I’m so excited to report that today, on my last day of summer break, I did it!  I ran five miles in 50 minutes!  Running is a cure-all for me.  If I can get a good run in three or four days per week, I sleep better, I eat healthier, I feel less stressed, and my self-confidence soars.  It will be a struggle to keep it up with school starting back, but as long as I can remind myself of all of those benefits of running, I am sure that I will maintain my endurance and love of running.

And here I am at summer’s end, goal accomplished, rested, rejuvenated, and looking to start a new position at a new school tomorrow.  I am still too emotional to write about how much I will miss Hopewell Middle School, so right now I just have to focus on the exciting career changes that are ahead of me this year.  I can’t wait to work in the lives of these high school kids!  It’s going to be an awesome year…

…but sometimes you can.  Oh, the difference ten days make.  I found a lovely little apartment for me and only me.  My own space again…sigh.  Divine. For the last two years, I have had the best roommate I could ask for, but he is moving to DC and it’s time for me to live alone again.  I can’t wait to make it my own with new bedding, wall hangings, patio furniture, and new kitchen towels.  Those are the things I’m dreaming of these days.  My new digs are on the West Side off Howell Mill Road, right where all the fun new stuff is springing up.  I will miss Midtown oh-so-much, but her price tag was more than my solo wallet could handle, so I’m hiking across the Connector to the West Side.

So that was awesome, finding a new place.  But do you know what else is awesome?  Getting a new job when you’ve been ready for a change for three years!  Last week I accepted a position at a high school in Fulton County.  I always wanted to teach in a high school, but when I met 8th graders my first year of teaching, I fell in love and never left them…until now.  I still love them–I just want to see what they’re like after they leave middle school.  As if that news isn’t great in itself, I have also cut my commute in HALF!  Right now I drive 52 miles a day just going to work and home.  I spend about 90 minutes in my car every day.  I read last year that the number one way to improve your quality of life is to reduce your commute, so this is finally happening for me.  (Expect a separate post about how hard it will hit me when I realize that I don’t work at Hopewell Middle School anymore.  I can’t think about that right now; I’ll think about that tomorrow.)

And to top all of that off, I still have the most wonderful boyfriend in the world, sweet sweet friends, and I am healthy and happy.  Oh yeah…and after June 3, I have two months off work.  Life is good.

In the past few weeks, I have spent a good deal of time just…visiting.  Not chatting on the phone or breezing through a quick lunch–actually visiting.  This lost art of conversation and sharing lives has renewed something within myself.  I am so ashamed by how quickly I go through dinners with friends and conversations with acquaintances and never truly sharing what is on our hearts and minds.  But I know why I (we) can’t do it (don’t do it): We don’t know how to slow down.  In our world of News Feeds, Tweets, push notifications, text messages, Bluetooths (Blueteeth?!), and iPods on shuffle, we live our lives on FF>>.  Slowing down requires its own skill set, one we probably don’t even think we’re equipped with.  As much as I love my iPhone, my Macbook, and my Facebook account, nothing will ever replace rocking chairs on the front porch, or Memaw’s living room, or long walks with my mama, or records playing in the background of Amanda’s living room.  Was I born in the wrong generation?  I don’t think so.  I think any of us would enjoy a slow life if we really tried it for a while, even a short while.

If you read my previous posts, or better yet if you spend a few minutes with me, you will see a trend in my demeanor:  I love where I live.  My neighborhood is absolutely perfect for me.  In fact, I just got back from a lovely evening stroll through Piedmont Park with the man I love.  Truly–what is better than that?!  This time of year and then again the fall with all of the colors colors colors, it seems that everyone falls in love with my neighborhood.  And to be honest with you–I get a bit territorial, especially when Juniper Street is slammed with cars and there is no street parking anywhere and every patio within my four-block radius has a 45-minute wait.  I hoist up my Midtown-shaped chip and put it on my shoulder and wonder where all of these people came from.  But then I remember…I used to be one of them.  One of those OTPers.  (And p.s. I’m also dating one.  But I try not to hold that against him.)  I used to hop on Marta from the Perimeter and spend the day at Piedmont or Inman Park or Decatur, fully embracing the uniqueness of the neighborhoods, which is what makes Atlanta great.

Or does it?

Last night I had a love-you-not experience with my fair city.  I went to the Hawks vs. Bulls game.  Going to Hawks games has become one of my favorite things to do, this all thanks to said boyfriend who works his charm magic on the Ticket Girl at his job and we go to games for free every time.  And sit in either the lower level or the suite.  (I mean…Who do we think we are?!)  This was probably my tenth game this year, and I have a blast every time.  I even have a favorite player (Joe Johnson, number 2) and I know most of the team roster’s numbers, first names and last names.  And I actually watch the game–not just the timeout and halftime entertainment.  My point here is that I have never been more embarrassed to be an Atlantan than at the Hawks/Bulls game.  I could have been convinced we were in Chicago the way the arena was cheering for the Bulls.  Not the Hawks.  Not our home team.  And I was also at the Hawks/Knicks game a few weeks ago when the same thing happened–more Knicks fans than Hawks fans.  Granted, the Hawks’ record isn’t as stellar as the aforementioned teams, but still…they’re OUR TEAM.  As are the Braves.  And the Falcons.  And the Thrashers.  Where is our Southern pride in our home teams?  What happened to loyalty?

Dearest fellow Atlantans, you must shape up.  Love where you live.  We have a great city and chances are, you have a pretty fantastic neighborhood.  Love it.  Take care of it.  Sure, we have our love-you-not moments (traffic, crime, traffic, Marta, traffic, etc.), but let’s embrace what is so great about this city.  She really is awesome.

And for goodness sake, cheer for our teams!

I’ll never forget the day I heard them for the first time.  I was driving on I-20 from Birmingham, AL to Atlanta and The Spectrum on XM radio told me I was listening to “The Cave” by Mumford & Sons.  The band named sounded vaguely familiar, and after some more driving and thinking (and wishing radio was like DVR and I could rewind and listen to that song again), I remembered reading about the band in Paste Magazine (God rest its printed soul).  I started sniffing around and came across some more tracks, but like any other music fanatic, they sort of got lost in my library among other hidden treasures.  Then the summer came, along with its vacation time, and I found them again in all their glory.  And thus began the obsession.

This band gets my award for Best of 2010.  There is not a single weakness in their debut album, Sigh No More.  All twelve tracks have been played dozens and dozens of times according to my iTunes Library, not counting the times I’ve listened to the cd in my car.  Here is exactly what I love about them:  passion.  The songs have movement, transitioning from a whaling sorrow to an exuberant excitement that makes me raise my hands and shout the lyrics to the sky.  And speaking of lyrics…wow.  Here are some of my favorite lines (and by favorite I mean the ones that give me chills, make me replay the line, and cause me to consider tattooing them on my body–don’t worry, Mom…I’m not actually going to do it.)

Can you lie next to her and give her your heart as well as your body?  And can you lie next to her and confess your love, your love as well as your folly?  And can you kneel before the king and say I’m clean, I’m clean?  But tell me now, where was my fault in loving  you with my whole heart?  –White Blank Page

Love that will not betray you, dismay or enslave you…it will set you free.  –Sigh No More

You have your choices, and these are what make man great, his ladder to the stars.  But you are not alone in this.  You are not alone in this.  As brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand, hold your hand.  –Timshel

But I’ll find strength in pain, I will change my ways, I’ll know my name as it’s called again.  …  Now let me at the truth which will refresh my broken mind. –The Cave

Seal my heart and break my pride. I’ve nowhere to stand and nowhere to hide. Align my heart, my body, my mind, to face what I’ve done and do my time.  –Dust Bowl Dance

How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes.  I struggle to find any truth in your lies.  And now my heart stumbles on things I don’t know.  My weakness, I feel, I must finally show.  …  Lend me your eyes, I can change what you see, but your soul you must keep totally free.  –Awake My Soul

Ok, I just had to stop myself.  I think I could have written the lyrics to all twelve songs as it does my soul good to reflect on these words and when they’re combined with the strings of their instruments, just be ready.  It’s more than listening to a good album.  Mumford & Sons have managed to create a spiritual experience for their listeners.  And if you have a chance to see them live, GO!  You know I see a lot of concerts, and their show at Buckhead Theater was second on my Best Shows of 2010 list, just behind David Gray and Ray LaMontagne at Red Rocks.  If it tells you anything, I really didn’t take a single picture during the show, but to the right is one of me and my girls before the magic started.  I was completely engrossed in the performance, holding my hands over my heart or up in the air the entire time.

One more before I go…I just can’t help myself.

But plant your hope with good seeds.

Don’t cover yourself with thistle and weeds.

Rain down, rain down on me.  –Thistle and Weeds

On Christmas morning, I left a snowy Dalton and drove to Atlanta, boarded a MARTA train to the airport, and flew to Providence, Rhode Island to see my dear friend, Taylor, who now lives in Bolivia, South America.  There were some firsts for me:  first white Christmas, first time traveling on Christmas Day, first time visiting the Northeast United States, and my first time staying with a friend’s family for more than just a night.  As it turns out, I beat the blizzard by about 12 hours and spent Sunday watching the snow fall…and fall…and keep falling.  It was BEAUTIFUL.  I was truly taken by the charm of Rhode Island, especially covered in a white blanket that almost felt majestic.  The tiny state is full of Colonial-style homes, many built in the 1800s.  And the food there–WOW!  Quohogs, lobster rolls, clam chowder…yes, please.  Again and again. The Bartons ushered me all over their home state:  East Greenwich (where they live), Newport, Providence, Narragansett, Warwick, and Kingstown.  Each town had its own unique charms and even though the 14-inch snow kept us from exploring much on foot, I anticipate a return trip to that lovely state.  One day, Taylor and I took the commuter train to Boston, which lost its appeal amid the 40-mph wind gusts and temperatures in the single digits.  (I have never ever been that cold before.)  For those reasons, Boston remains on my must-visit list.  As you know if you follow my blog, I do most of my traveling alone, but this time I was surrounded by the Barton family, and it was such a treat to have them as my hosts and travel guides.  I love the pride they have in their home and the warmth with which they treated me as a guest in their home.  Becoming a member of their family, even if just for a few days, was an honor and a pleasure.

Today I got mail, like the kind that requires a stamp on a sealed envelop, and inside was a handwritten note from a precious kindred spirit.  I stood in the lobby of my building outside the mailroom and my eyes filled with tears as I read her beautifully crafted, heartfelt expression of how much our friendship means to her and how much she loves me.  Her beautiful handwriting that is so perfect it looks like it could be a font keeps swirling around in my mind this evening as I reread it.  What a treasure!  Even more than her thoughtful words strung into sentences is the thought of her picking out the stationery, choosing a good pen, perching at her kitchen table, and handwriting a note to me for no other reason in the world than just because.  Is there really any better gift?

Sure, her words would have been meaningful and special if they were typed out in an email, but because they came in her handwriting, in an envelop, and out of my mailbox, they are now a gift, a treasure that I can store away in a keepsake box and return to years later.  And I am sure that I will hold that note to my chest and close my eyes and remember so fondly this time of our lives, living as single girls in Midtown Atlanta, exploring our young adulthood, sharing everyday nothingness, and supporting one another through disappointments as well as triumphs.

My challenge to you, dear readers, is to pick up a package of note cards, grab a pen, and hand write a note of affection to someone important in your life.  Mail it (even if they live in your neighborhood).  Wait.  I promise you’ll make their day.