Moments In Between

There is something about Italian men, and me. I have yet to figure out exactly what it is. All I know is that it involves them finding me attractive, and me getting free pizza. It all started in Italy, naturally. When my friend and I frequented the local pizzaria around the corner from the hotel. Italian pizza in general is amazing and this local store was no exception. You could order from an array of different choices that were much more varied than our usual sausage or pepperoni. You also ordered by the ounce and paid by the weight. Somehow or another this old, married, Italian man took a liking to American me and thus began a week of free pizza and at one point gelato. I will not complete this story in all it’s awkwardness however.

Now, many miles away I have found my own slice of Europe. And the owner of this local joint just happens to be Sicilian and just happens to like me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there are many other young, pretty girls on his “to flirt with list.” But being a woman I am used to it, and am also more than happy to take any advantages that come along with being a woman. Be it discounted frozen yogurt, free pizza, or pasta made just the way I want. I enjoy this interaction, even though the feminist in my brain is screaming “are you serious?!” Oh well. It’s just hard to argue with good pizza.

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On another completely different note, I had a fun weekend this weekend. This was the second year I competed in the Bay State Games, and the second year I won the mixed doubles. The ironic thing, is that the gym was about 100 degrees, it was 90 degrees outside, and winners got black sweatshirts as a prize. Whose bright idea was that? It is the summer games… Anywho. I’m finding it increasingly difficult to play competitions and enjoy them. I am still too competitive. That is a bad combination with being out of shape and maintaining the knowledge of how good you used to be.

Basically, it’s like watching the world cup and really knowing what it’s like to be the Netherlands. I’ve been through that, or close. Knowing in your gut how wrenching it is to lose such an important game. Watching the winners rejoice from the sidelines. It’s crazy to remember I played the World Championships. That I played in the Uber Cup. Pan Am Games. Japan Open…. Such prestigious tournaments. And now… now what? Now I try to explain to new friends and acquaintances about what it was like. To explain my former life, the former me. It feels like trying to describe a unicorn.

Dear friends & family,
First of all, thank you so much for making it possible for me to take part in the 2010 Overnight Walk for Suicide Prevention. Without you, I would not have been able to take part. Below is a little bit about my journey and a link to some photos I took along the way.

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When I first saw signs in Boston for this walk, I wanted to take part. But I wasn’t convinced I could raise the $700 necessary. My friends, however, told me not to worry about it and that I’d be surprised at how willing people are to donate to a good cause. Although I hate asking for help, I signed up. $2,125 later I realized how right my friends were. I was so touched reading letters from family and friends saying, “we are honored you asked us to support you.”

Every walker was given a blue t-shirt with a space on the back to write who they were walking in honor of. My t-shirt said “for those who died in silence.” Among other reasons I walked to help reduce the stigma of mental illness and for a friend who died of suicide, but her family was too ashamed to admit that it was suicide that took her life. Every walker also wore honor beads to represent who they were walking for. To represent the loss of a child, a partner or spouse, a parent, a sibling, a relative or friend, that you have struggled personally, or to represent your support of the cause.

At the opening ceremony the founder of the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention expressed that “no one should walk alone.” As the “North Stars” began the walk, those who raised over $10,000, I finished my North End pasta and joined the crowd. I walked alone for the first mile or so, listening to other people share stories and reading other people’s shirts. For about the next mile I joined a woman who was walking in honor of her nephew and was ahead of her group. I lost track of her at our first of many water stops. At about mile 2/3 I bumped into three very funny women who when they found out I was walking alone, adopted me. They were walking in honor of Eric, who died at 23, their son, brother, and friend. I was amazed at this team, not only had they undergone this loss, but the husband/father had been struggling with cancer for 15 years and a recent bone marrow
transplant and the night of the walk he came down with a 102 degree fever.

I’m pretty sure that without these four women I may not have finished the walk. At mile 10, or about midnight, my joints and knees felt like I was a long time arthritic. The walk took us from government center, to BU, to fenway, to Southie, to castle island, to the Celtic’s garden, back to government center. There were walkers of all shapes and sizes, ages, from different states, and even two people who were pushed in wheelchairs. Along the walk we were well feed and taken care
of thanks to multiple quick stops, a midnight meal, and a great team of volunteers who were there the whole way to cheer us on. My team and I finished at about 3:30am where we collected our victory shirts and a much welcomed warm breakfast. Back at government center, the crew had set up all of the bags walkers had created to honor people. They were filled with sand and an electric candle. The long and tiring journey finished with the very emotional testimony of all those we’ve lost.

What I have taken from this walk is the strength and courage everyone showed. We walked to raise awareness of mental illness and the possible consequences of what can happen if it goes untreated. We walked to honor the lives of those we’ve lost and those left behind. We walked in the hopes that others wont have to lose their ther/mother/brother/sister/daughter/son/friend to a preventable cause. We walked together, supporting strangers.

Thank you again for not just donating, but supporting me.
With love,
Jennifer

Photos Here

It’s probably been close to 17 years since I did something like this, well not even quite like this I guess. But still close.

As a kid I remember going on “crop hunger walks” to raise money to help fight hunger. My mom and I often biked the route. Then in middle school there was “jump rope for heart” which raised money for the American Heart Association. I was also a dedicated UNICEF collector most Halloweens, thanks to my amazing grandmother who believed so much in the organization. Luckily there are no photos as proof, but I even dressed up as a UNICEF box one year! Talk about increasing my fund raising.

This year I randomly found out about the Out of the Darkness Overnight Walk, sponsored by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. It’s an 18 mile walk starting June 26th at dusk and ending June 27th at dawn. Something about this opportunity called to me and I am so grateful my friends convinced me to sign up for it. As a walker I am required to raise $700 to participate, however my goal is to raise $2,748. (Yes, I am forever the overachiever.) The reason being, that 2748 is my volunteer number at the crisis hotline. My amazing friends and family have already helped me reach 9% of my goal in the first week. Thank you all.

Suicide, depression, and mental illness hit very close to home for me. Not only because I am a mental health counselor, but because my friends and my family have been affected by it. Being able to participate on this walk means so much to me because I will get to share my story and more importantly hear others’ stories.

One group that I have been supporting the last few years is TWLOHA (to write love on her arms). TWLOHA is more than a group, it’s a movement. The movement works toward “presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide.” I love the mission, because it focuses on not just the heavy, but also the light. Where there is despair, there is also hope. Where there is weakness, there is also strength. I believe in life, I believe in love, and I believe in the opportunity to help others who can not see the benefits of life, or feel that they are loved.

Finals used to mean one thing. It was something to work towards, something to get excited about. Finals meant flowers, medals, and prize money. Finals were a good thing to be a part of. Now, finals mean something totally different. They mean studying for 150 multiple choice tests which professors didn’t prepare you for, and stressing over how a teacher might present material.

My parents were in town this weekend to help out at the Boston Open, and by default I ended up spending the entire weekend in the gym with them. It will most likely not bode very well for my academic finals. However, I have gotten bit by the bug again. Yes, the badminton bug. Seeing all of my friends was so nice and wonderful. And watching so many good matches has got me motivated. Now comes the hard part- finding time to play and finding partners. But playing again will be good for me I think. Although I will never be able to play in a competition without having a slight competitive mind frame, I think I can now play from week to week just for fun.

For those of you who don’t live in Boston, today is not just Patriots Day. Today is marathon Monday. People from all over the world come to Boston to run 26.2 miles from Hopkinton to downtown Boston. The fastest people in the world. Men, women, children. Father pushing sons in wheelchairs, sons running for fathers. Military men walk with their baggage, all of it. There is a story behind everyone. 26,735 runners sign up and 22,540 runners finished. I have heard that Boston is one of the best races. It’s one of the best because of the crowds. We are said to have 25 cheerers for each runner. It takes the elites about 2.5 hours to run. It takes everyone else a bit longer.

I have never seen the city so packed. Not even for the red sox games, or a celtics game. I have never seen people cheer so loud for strangers. BC students pull out couches and drink all day cheering runners on. The whole city closes down for the event. To me, this is what competition is all about. It’s about supporting each other to do our best. Helping each other raise millions of dollars for charities. Seeing strength and endurance overcome all else.

I’m sure there are a lot of people who don’t understand why I go to church. Perhaps it is the dogma, the guilt that is often instilled, the peculiar traditions, or a variety of other factors. And I guess that doesn’t bother me so much. To each their own right? Church and religion are one thing, and not everybody’s cup of tea. But I believe that faith is something else altogether. Personally, I would be lost without it. Our Easter Sunday sermon was about faith, and about believing in the impossible. Now don’t get me wrong, I do think there is a difference between believing in resurrection and believing in other seemingly impossible events. I’m not here to convince anyone there was a virgin birth. But I have lived my life believing in the impossible, and working towards it. And I must admit, sometimes the impossible is just that, impossible. So be it. But what’s the harm in believing anyway? Sure it can be harmful if you end up following a cult and drinking the kool-aid, but isn’t that the extreme?

I want to believe. I want the impossible.

Impossible is Nothing

I think Dorthy was onto something. There really is no place like home. I am curled up on the couch with my puppies, eating brie and crackers. There is a quart of my favorite ice cream sitting in the freezer waiting for me and waiting for Easter. My mother bought fresh iris’ to brighten the house. Because she loves me, because I’m special, or maybe just because, we had crab legs for dinner. A special treat.

My father took me out for Mac and Cheese pizza for lunch.  He offered to read over my psychopharm paper and said it was good. We discussed clients, case studies, and Disassociative Identity Disorder on the back steps while I played fetch with my Lightening. I am woken with four big eyes and two wagging tails at the bottom of the staircase each morning.

My sister, and her soon-to-be-husband drive 2.5 hours to spend a day with me and the ‘rents. Mickey’s Dairy Bar is on the menu, which means pancakes the size of your head. My bed is too small and my pillows are lumpy, but I seem to sleep just fine. That is the magic of home.

Life is like a monsoon. Wait… no, I think I got that wrong. Life IS a monsoon! Yes, for all of you who do not live in Boston, let me tell you. It has been raining, NONSTOP, since Friday. That is four days in a row of straight rain!! And I’m not talking about the drizzly type. I’m talking about cold weather, high winds, twist your umbrella inside out, soak your shoes, jeans and whole body type of rain. I truly think if the city shut down for only 2 inches of snow, they should be allowed to shut down for this. It is simply outrageous.

Everyone should be sent home with orders to put on their pjs, snuggle under the covers and watch tv or read a good book. None of this “trying to get work” done nonsense when it feels like the Apocalypse. It’s just not possible. In other news, apparently I’m paying BC $225 to make a collage of my “ideal self.” Quality I tell you. One of my classes is so ridiculous that today we cut out images from magazines to create a collage to share with our groups. Not that I am making fun of this activity, I am simply suggesting that graduate school is perhaps geared towards people OVER the age of 13?….

At least everyone in the class agrees, which thus bonds us even more. Oh yeah, and the cute new umbrella I bought today… already broken from the wind. lovely…

A week after the predicted blizzard. A week after being sent home from work early. After having classes canceled. After having a “snow emergency” warning. We finally got our Boston snow storm. I’m not sure how many inches it has snowed today. But it is enough. It’s enough to coat those dirty, gray piles of old snow lining the street. It is enough to fall on the branches of the trees and brighten the evening. It is enough snow to slosh home in, sled down hills in, or make snow angles with.

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I have been thinking a lot about sports this week. Obviously because it is the Olympics, but also because my friends have been asking me questions about my past. It is funny when someone in my “new life” hears what I used to do in my “old life.” “REALLY? You tried to qualify for the Olympics?” is one of the usual responses. I emphasis the “tried” when I respond. They are pretty shocked and amazed, but then naturally they go back to living their life. They do not have to carry this as their past like I do. One friend told me that she, her husband and a friend were discussing athletics and I came up in the conversation. They were debating what was harder, or better- to have lived a life and never reached for a big dream like the Olympics- or to have tried and not made it. But there are so many other situations. What about the athlete who makes it then screws up her chance for a medal, this is someone who actually has a chance to be on the podium. Or the athlete who trains his whole life to compete and makes it and gets slaughtered, but at least he competed. Perhaps like people say, “the grass is always greener…”

Another thing I have been thinking a bit about is what to give up for lent. Every year I usually give up sweets, which if you know me is not an easy task. But in the last few years I have also tried to do something everyday as a form of practice. One year, while living in California, I gave up road rage. It made for a much more peaceful 40 days. This year I have something slightly different in mind. I think I have decided to work on forgiveness. Easy right? I’m sure 40 wont solve any of my problems, but I think it might be a nice place to start. I have realized lately that I need to do some serious forgiving of myself and of others, before I can move on with my life. A lot of people don’t realize that anger is not an emotion. Anger is an expression of other emotions, often the underlying emotion is hurt. I have a lot of anger I have let settle over the years, and I think it’s time I start to let it out, slowly.

"Curl" Kurt Halsey

I guess this hairstyle is a keeper. At least until I grow it out long enough to do something funkier with it. I have gotten more comments today and yesterday on my new look, than, perhaps ever. Most people ask if I got it cut, one person asked if I dyed it, but everyone says they like it. And by everyone, I mean everyone. The grad student at work who is honest to a fault asked me three times if I wanted the truth about how she felt about my looks. Three times I told her yes. Then she went on to say it was great and shaped my head really well, or something more elegantly phrased than that. JC (the other JC at work) who is J. Crew/burberry chic also said she really liked. She then went on to confirm that if she didn’t like it she would have kept her mouth shut, no bs from her. The kicker though, was when my practicum professor (favorite professor) handed out our paper assignment today and stopped for a minute before handing me mine. “New look?” and I said “yes, thanks.” “I like it.” gold. solid gold.

The outside is the easy stuff. It’s the inside that’s killer. I got the best news ever last week, and now only a few days later I’m back on my face wondering how I hit the ground again so soon. I feel like a kid running around with her shoelaces untied. All of the other kids have theirs tied, or they have velcro, and I just don’t understand why I’m the odd one out. I keep stopping to tie my shoes but they keep coming undone. Every time I bend down to tie them I notice how happy all the other kids are running around playing tag or dodgeball. The problem with shoe laces that continually come untied? you keep falling down, and it gets harder and harder to get up.

"proof of feeling" Kurt Halsey