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I want to just be there for those that need someone. October 2, 2009

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Here’s one of my new discoveries: Mayday Parade’s “Miserable At Best” is just a great, great song. It’s so sweet, and pure, and youthful, and effervescent, and wonderfully evocative. I just love it. It’s what my heart looks like right now, even though the lyrics don’t apply to me. That doesn’t matter. It’s the mood.

Today. Right now. October afternoon. It feels lovely outside, I have the rest of the night free, and I want to DO something! Listening to “Miserable At Best” makes me want to just go, and meet people, and go to a park, and hug, and cry, and find a lonely girl whose room is covered in Twilight posters and just spend time with her, and hug her, and make her feel special, and order pizza and watch a movie, and just make her feel warm, and make her understand that it does NOT have to work the way that the outside world does, and remind her that there are actually people out there who care and who don’t want to just pass her by. That girl – and I know she, and others like her, are in my city, somewhere – that girl and her feelings, they MATTER. The rest of the world might be content to just roll their eyes, but those girls, and what they’re going through, are IMPORTANT to me! I want to be there for them, because I CARE.

Today’s young people – Generation 2009 – are the most literate, self-aware, intelligent generation that’s ever lived. Paradoxically, even despite the whole Web 2.0 movement and all the ways we now have to stay connected to each other, today’s young people also feel more isolated, more ostracized, more misunderstood, and more alone than any other young people ever have. I want to help them, and I want to help change that second part.

What I am not. Not yet, anyway. June 20, 2009

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Ok, so, my last post was about what I want. All of that still applies. This post will be about what I am not. At least, not yet. I remain hopeful. If you’re confused – and you probably are – keep reading.

First, before I can really explain, you should watch this video, and then continue reading what’s below it.

Now, you may have indeed watched it, but did you really see it? Did you truly listen to it?

Since you’re all caught up, here’s what I am not.

I am not good enough, pure enough, decent enough, or worthy enough to bear witness to art that is that beautiful.

It’s a bit of a sobering thought, but it’s true. I don’t deserve to get to experience something like that. I don’t really know how (or why) I’ve been deemed lucky enough to get to experience it anyway, and I don’t really know whether my being cognizant of this is a blessing or a curse.

But, as I said above, I remain hopeful. I don’t know what the process is here, or how I’m supposed to reconcile any of this with myself, but I’m trying. I can be better. We all can be.

sleepless nights and city lights… (if you’re curious as to what I want, read this post.) June 1, 2009

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Here is exactly, precisely, what I want. Nothing more, and nothing less. I know that there are other things that should probably be taking precedence right now, but right now? In this moment? I don’t care. I really, really don’t care. So, that being said (or typed, in this case), here is what I want.

I want it to be an overcast, brisk, slightly chilly day, with the smell of rain in the air. The kind of day that most people, for reasons unknown to me, find depressing, but that I find liberating and exhilarating. I want to meet her at a coffee shop, along with a few friends. When I arrive, I want to get to see her break out a big smile. I want to hug her lovingly, in a way that envelopes her with warmth and suggests strength and intensity but also kindness and tenderness. I want to play with her hair during the hug, close my eyes, and completely forget where I am. Then, after a few minutes of conversation and of catching up with friends, I want to stand up, walk over to her, lean down with a smile on my face, place my hand on her shoulder, and discreetly request that she excuse herself from the main group, so that the two of us can talk privately. Then, I want her to accompany me to a corner of the room, away from everyone else, so that all other conversation sounds distant and muted. I want to focus only on her. I want to move two chairs close together, so that we can sit facing each other, but still be quite close. I want to lean forward, take her hands in mine, look up at her, and just gaze. Just gaze … for however long. Seconds, minutes, hours … I don’t care. The kind of looks that sometimes say more than words ever could. Then, I want to look straight at her, see that her eyes are stunning and that they are like windows and mirrors simultaneously, and say, in a low, soft, but still fervent, affectionate, and passionate voice, “I love you.” I then want to kiss her twice: once on her forehead and once on her lips.

Emotions, and what they do to me. May 13, 2009

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I think I’ve figured something out about myself.

I think that the potency of my emotions sometimes carries me to the point where I think and feel too much for my own good.

Last night, I was at Barnes & Noble, completely engrossed in a book of love letters, when I noticed this girl sitting across from me. I don’t know why, but I was immediately struck by how beautiful she was and I had a hard time stopping myself from staring. She had mild, warm skin tones, inquisitive eyes, long, gorgeous auburn hair, and she was wearing a long white skirt that looked fantastic on her. She looked elegant, intelligent, and stunning, all at the same time.

Well, I eventually was ready to leave, but I had this incredible urge to go say something to her. So, I went up to her and said, “Excuse me – I don’t mean to bother you, and I don’t want to seem rude, but I couldn’t help noticing you, and I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re beautiful. It does everyone good to be reminded of that, and you’re beautiful. Just know that.” She smiled at me and said “Thank you”, but she was clearly taken a bit aback, so I smiled back, turned, and left. I exited the building to walk to my car, and I had tears in my eyes by the time I got to it. I don’t even know why, and this might not make any sense, but I already wanted to talk to her more, and to hear about the book she was reading, and about what she thinks and feels, and about what was on her mind, and what was worrying her, and what I could perhaps help with, and I just broke down. So, yeah, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do or think anymore, but I’m pretty sure, going back to the first couple of sentences of this post, that I feel too much. And the crazy part – the part that really might not make any sense – is that I wouldn’t ever change that about myself. I don’t think that I would even consider it, actually, if I were given the opportunity. So, I guess I just have to deal with it, and take the good with the bad. I really don’t know. I don’t think there’s a “right” or “wrong” answer – there’s just me, and all I can do is do the best that I can. I do, however, know this with certainty: I’ll take “feeling too much” over “not feeling” every single time.

I just can’t help myself, and I don’t know what else to do other than to feel, and try to make sense of everything from there. Emotion is my reference point.

A Love Letter May 9, 2009

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Dear Soulmate,

I want to love.

I want to give so much love that it disorients the people who receive it. I want to love so much that it makes people question my sincerity, only to pleasantly surprise those same people when they realize that I mean it.

Most of all, I want to shock someone with love, and I want that someone to be you. I want to love you to such an extreme that it becomes life-consuming. I want to love you so much that you end up being spoiled completely and totally rotten. And I don’t mean “spoil” as in “mess up” or “deface” – I mean “spoil” as in “absolutely redefine what it means to treat someone like an angel and seek, every day, to lay waste to their previous definition of happiness and force them to try to generate another one”. And, honestly, I don’t even want you to be successful at that – I want to love you to the point of rendering you speechless.

I’ll wait as long as I have to for you, sweetheart. Just, please know that I’m here, and that I won’t ever give up on you. I can’t, because even though I might not even know you yet, I love you. I love you more than anyone else has ever loved anyone, and you have absolutely no idea how excited I am to, one day, be able to show you. I want to fall into you so deeply that the outside world completely loses relevance for me, because you are my world. You are all that I am, and all that I will ever be.

Love beyond all boundaries,

Jordan

Last night was amazing. It was only the beginning, I hope. April 30, 2009

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Last night. Wednesday, April 29. Hopefully, the start of something beautiful, uplifting, and pure. I think it was. I really hope so. Here’s what happened.

I was sitting around the house, craving emotion and connection, but I wasn’t sure what I could do, or what I should be doing. I am frustrated nearly every day by my inability, for whatever reason, to do more connecting with people and to serve some sort of purpose in that regard. I’ve realized more and more that I seek that out, and that I need emotion, and I need depth. Last night, I particularly wanted to talk to girls, and just interact, and talk, and laugh, and cry, and hug, and just be there for them.

Anyway, perhaps unsurprisingly, I ended up on the computer, scanning websites and blogs, looking for something. Anything. Some kind of sign. I found my way to PostSecret, which, for the uninformed, is a wonderful place. I started reading stories that users had posted in the forum, about leaving secrets of their own in PostSecret books in bookstores, and even just leaving secrets randomly around their city. I was fascinated by all of it, and ended up taking some inspiration from what I read. I then found myself in my room, furiously writing on small pieces of notebook paper. I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to write when I started, but by the time I was done, I knew. I ended up with a couple of handwritten copies of four brief messages, cut so that each of the four messages was on its own strip of paper. They were as follows.

 

If you’re a guy, please give this to a girl you know.

If you’re a girl, I want you to know something. You’re beautiful, and you matter. Please don’t let yourself think that you don’t. I care about you.

 

If you’re a guy, you should tell a girl you know that she’s beautiful. She doesn’t hear it often enough.

If you’re a girl, please try not to be discouraged too much by the guys who seem to be better at tearing you down than at lifting you up. A guy should think of spending time with you as an amazing privilege. If you don’t know one like that just yet, don’t worry – I can’t wait to meet you.

 

If you’re a guy, please give this to a girl you know.

If you’re a girl, I want you to know that you are beautiful. Please don’t ever think that you are alone, or that there isn’t a guy out there that cares about you. Because I do.

 

If you’re a guy, you should tell a girl you know that she’s beautiful. She doesn’t hear it often enough.

If you’re a girl, please just know that there are guys out there that care. There are those of us out there who, even though we might not even know you yet, are already thinking of ways to make you happy.

 

I signed each of the messages as “Spread Hope Like Fire”.

I got each of the strips of paper folded and then set off in my car, still not entirely sure on where I was going. It was nearly midnight by this point, and I considered where there would still be some cars, and where there would perhaps be some young people. I decided to go to a movie theater that’s fairly close to my house, and scope out the parking lot there. Sure enough, there were still some cars. Not a lot, but there were enough, from people that were there catching the late showing of a movie. I parked at one end of the lot, grabbed the folded-up strips of paper with the messages on them, and started walking. Whenever I passed a car that I caught some kind of vibe from, I placed one of the messages under the driver’s side windshield wiper. After I had distributed all of them, I walked back across the lot to my car, and, before driving away, I looked back to the group of cars. Among others, I could see three cars, all parked next to each other, that each had a message under the windshield wiper. It felt AMAZING. I can’t even describe the energy I had. It felt so good and so right, and even on the brief drive back home, I was already excited at the thought of those people walking out to their cars and seeing the messages waiting for them, with no other explanation. If even one person was able to connect with their message, or gain something from it, no matter how big or small? That would be wonderful.

In a few minutes, I’m going to write perhaps a few more copies of those messages, and try to look inside and find some more that need to be wrote and need to be put out into the world. Then, later tonight, I’m going to head out again, find some more parking lots, and try to get the messages to people that need them.

Personality Types, according to Helen Fisher (I’m a Negotiator) March 25, 2009

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I checked out Helen Fisher’s latest book a few days ago, titled Why Him? Why Her?, and I found it really interesting. In it, she goes over some of the biological reasons behind why we fall in love with some people, but not with others. She also touches on the “nature vs. nurture” debate, and how, for quite some time, the “nurture” side (how we are raised, our parents, the environment we grow up in, etc.) was thought to play a pretty significant role in determining our relationship preferences. Ms. Fisher doesn’t seek to dismiss that school of thought entirely, as that stuff obviously affects us to a certain extent, but she discusses at length some of the new research that’s been done on body chemistry, and how it’s become more and more obvious that a large part of who we are, as far as personality and temperament goes, is determined by the “nature” side. (Wow, that last sentence had FIVE commas. Nice.)

Through the research she’s done, there are four main personality types that she’s defined. Almost everyone has traits from all four types, on some level, but there are one or two that are usually at the forefront, and she has designed a personality test that can measure how strongly you exhibit tendencies of each of the four. There are fourteen statements for each of the four types, and you’re measured on how strongly you agree or disagree with each of them.

There’s the Explorer, who usually tends to rely on his/her impulses. Explorers are the closest personality type to what people usually call “adrenaline junkies” or “thrill seekers”. While the Builder, another of her personality types, generally finds comfort and relaxation from routine, Explorers are just the opposite – they thrive off of spontaneity, and they feel stagnated by nearly any sort of predictable, repetitive activity or routine. They are enthusiastic, optimistic, sexual, open-minded, and eager. They love trying new things, and are always up for an adventure.

There’s the Builder, who usually tends to rely on his/her values. Builders have a clear idea of what they do and do not agree with, and they conduct themselves based on that. Their values are the most “traditional” of the four personality types, and they view most long-held customs or traditions as good indicators that should be followed. Family is almost always a big priority. Ms. Fisher designated this type as the “Builder” for pretty obvious reasons – they are the primary “building blocks” of society, and Builders treasure and seek out stable environments for themselves and their loved ones.

There’s the Director, who usually tends to rely on his/her logic. Directors shoot for the stars, and, when they know what they want, they go after it with everything they have. They value getting to the point and speaking directly, and they normally don’t have much patience for procrastinating or for doing things that aren’t directly related to what they’re trying to take care of. They understand complex machines fairly easily, and are interested in seeing how things work, or in seeing rules and procedures that govern systems. Directors look at the world from a fairly scientific perspective, and, as such, are open to new ideas, just not new ideas that lack support, evidence, or justification.

Last, there’s the Negotiator, who usually tends to rely on his/her intuition. If the Director looks at the world like a scientist, the Negotiator looks at the world like a philosopher. Every topic or thought, no matter how big or small, can be dissected and looked at from multiple angles. Negotiators are emotional, passionate, empathetic, romantic, and nurturing. They also have the most idealistic view of love and romance – they would rather live alone than be in an unfulfilling relationship, and they are enchanted by the idea of true love, and of a soulmate. Being connected to and invested in others is part of what makes life worth living for Negotiators, and they find it hard to maintain interest in a relationship (romantic or otherwise) that doesn’t allow them to find common emotional ground.

So, I took the test, because I had become quite curious about what kind of results I would get, and because I had gotten a rough idea about where I would fall, and I wanted to see if I was right. (I was.) You’re scored on each of the fourteen statements on a scale of zero, one, two, or three, based on how strongly you identify with the statement. This is repeated four times, so that at the end of the test, you have four numbers between zero and forty-two, each of them corresponding to how much you agreed with the overall set of statements for each personality type.

For the Explorer set of statements, I scored in the mid-twenties – twenty-four or twenty-five.

For the Builder set, I scored lower – about twenty or twenty-one.

For the Director set, I scored almost identically to how I scored on the Builder set – about twenty.

For the Negotiator set? My score was almost the maximum score possible, which is forty-two. I think I was at thirty-eight or thirty-nine. I immediately had a strong positive reaction to almost every one of the statements – stuff like “I enjoy it when an author takes a sidetrack to say something beautiful or meaningful”, “After watching a particularly emotional film, I often still feel moved by it several hours later”, and “I like to get to know my friends’ deepest needs and feelings”. Moreover, when I read the chapter specifically about Negotiators, I caught myself agreeing with just about everything, and thinking, “That totally sounds like me!”

sweeping up a life. March 13, 2009

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Excerpt from Dreams From My Father, by Barack Obama – Chapter Thirteen, pages 249-251

 

“I’m telling you, man, the world is a place.”

“Say, the world is a place, huh.”

“That’s just what I’m saying.”

We were walking back to the car after dinner in Hyde Park, and Johnnie was in an expansive mood. He often got like this, especially after a good meal and wine. The first time I met him, when he was still working with a downtown civic group, he had started explaining the relationship between jazz and Eastern religion, then swerved into an analysis of black women’s behinds, before coming to a stop on the subject of Federal Reserve Bank policy. In such moments his eyes would grow wide; his voice would speed up; his round, bearded face would glow with a childlike wonder. That was part of the reason I’d hired Johnnie, I suppose, that curiosity of his, his appreciation of the absurd. He was a philosopher of the blues.

“I’ll give you an example,” Johnnie was saying to me now. “The other day, I’m headed for a meeting up in the State of Illinois Building. You know how it’s open in the middle, right . . . big atrium and all that. Well, the guy I’m supposed to be meeting with is late, so I’m just standing there looking down at the lobby from the twelfth floor, checking out the architecture, when all of a sudden this body flies past me. A suicide.”

“You didn’t tell me about that —”

“Yeah, well, shook me up pretty good. High up as I was, I could hear the body land like it was right there next to me. Terrible sound. Soon as it happened, these office workers rushed up to the guardrail to see what was going on. We’re all looking down, and sure enough the body’s lying there, all twisted and limp. People started screaming, covering their eyes. But the strange thing was, after people got through screaming, they’d go back to the railing to get a second look. Then they’d scream and cover their eyes all over again. Now why would they do that? Like, what do they expect the second time around? But see, folks are funny like that. We can’t help ourselves with that morbid shit. . . .

“Anyway, the cops come, they rope things off and take the body away. Then the building crew starts cleaning things up. Nothing special, you know — just a broom and a mop. Sweeping up a life. Whole thing’s cleaned up in maybe five minutes. Makes sense, I guess . . . I mean, it’s not like you need special equipment or suits or something. But it starts me thinking, How’s that gonna feel to be one of those janitors, mopping up somebody’s remains? Somebody’s got to do it, right? But how you gonna feel that night eating dinner?”

“Who was it that jumped?”

“That’s the other thing, Barack!” Johnnie took a drag from his cigarette and let the smoke roll from his mouth. “It was a young white girl, man, sixteen maybe, seventeen. One of these punk rock types, with blue hair and a ring through her nose. Afterward, I’m wondering what she was thinking about while she was riding up the elevator. I mean, folks musta been standing right next to her on the way up. Maybe they looked her over, decided she was a freak, and went back to thinking about their own business. You know, their promotion, or the Bulls game, or whatever. And the whole time this girl’s just standing there next to them with all that pain inside her. Got to be a lot of pain, doc, ’cause right before she jumps, you figure she looks down and knows that shit is gonna hurt.”

Johnnie stamped out his cigarette. “So that’s what I’m saying, Barack. Whole panorama of life out there. Crazy shit going on. You got to ask yourself, is this kinda stuff happening elsewhere? Is there any precedent for all this shit? You ever ask yourself that?”

“The world’s a place,” I repeated.

“See there! It’s serious, man.”

word up. February 8, 2009

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“I like to inspire and to be inspired. Connecting with people is something I enjoy also, because life is fleeting. We should build each other up and fellowship and enjoy one another.” – Kevin Brewer

Couldn’t have said it any better myself.

two kids on the trunk of a car. January 3, 2009

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It’s hard for me to be happy when I can’t see that I am helping those around me be happy. I’m out of town visiting my family for a few days, and last night, I so desperately wanted to be with someone. I’m single, and I wasn’t necessarily thinking about a girlfriend, per se - I just wanted to have some kind of connection. Of course, since I’m out of town, it’s not exactly an environment where I know a lot of people outside of my family (don’t know anyone, actually), so I couldn’t really do that. I ended up doing what I usually do when I’m in a mood like that: I drove around aimlessly for a while and listened to music.

What I really wanted was to feel like I am serving some sort of purpose, even if it’s nothing more than being a sounding board or being a good listener. I wanted to go catch a late showing of, like, Twilight, talk to a couple of girls there after the movie, even if they’re strangers, and then go to an all-night restaurant or something and just talk, whether about the movie, or their boy issues, or whatever. Anything. Just have one of those huge, late-night conversations over hot chocolate that ends with us getting sleepy, someone crying, us embracing in a huge hug before they leave, and me making sure that they know that, if they ever need anyone to talk to, regardless of the circumstances, that they can call me.

Another thing I’ve always wanted to do: I want to be out driving around in the city where I live and actually run into a friend that’s out doing the same thing, wishing that there was someone there who they could talk to. I want that feeling, and that assurance, of knowing that I can be that guy to whom they feel they can run to if they need anything. That holds true for my friends in my hometown, too.

And last night, as I was driving around, I was in this shopping center parking lot that was almost completely empty, save for this one car under a parking lot light. I eventually could see that there were a couple of people outside the car. As I was driving by, I realized what was happening: it was a guy and a girl, sitting against the trunk of the car, just talking. This was at, like, 1 a.m., and I could tell they didn’t care at all. This might not make sense to anyone but me, but it was beautiful. I want that. I miss that.