Yesterday was not only my anniversary with the BF but it was also the birthday of a dear friend who’s exploits, care and general existence have made her more like family. Last night, as I sat around the table full of eclectic but HYSTERICAL folks that she’s touched, I was amazed at how groups of people find each other in this crazy sea of life. In any other time, there would be little to know way that I’d get to know some of these wonderful people other than the heart we all road in on to meet each other and that was Jen’s. She’d asked us to bring a story of the first time we met her in lieu of presents and my story was so “ugh” because I was just having an “off day” (without judgement though! I just think sometimes you’re not in line with yourself but at least those time allow you to know what “in line” feels like). I did want to redo my story but not because it was short and kind of odd (it was an accurate first meeting though) but because I didn’t finish it really to link it to the moments that she and I became sisters. I didn’t get to to reveal the true nature of this girl’s heart! Most of the night was I upset with myself for not coming better than that but then I realized (again) that I have flaws that sometimes even I don’t even recognize as the rear their head. I really don’t mind that so much (any more - perfection literally gave me an ulcer once) so long as I figure out what to do from there so I don’t repeat my lessons (this is a valuable tool I got from “The Artists Way” by Julia Cameron YEARS ago by my other sister Marcella who kind of introduced me to the path of self growth). This is my opportunity to sort of re-steer my story last night and give Jen the story she deserves.
My original Jen story went like this: We both worked at Sundance Channel together but we weren’t friends yet. I was on my to the gym one day. Jen, me and this other girl were in the elevator together. I was carrying this pink Kaboodle (as my toiletries’ case) and Jen looked at me and said, “What the fuck is that? A Kaboodle?”
Now, this story doesn’t really have any indication that this girl would save my life in many different ways years to come. It does highlight her humor though because I think that story is actually quite funny. That was our first meeting however at some point our lives sort of merged into being inseparable. And that act of being unable to separate from her light was a theme across the table last night (this is not something that most people get in their “description” of themselves by other people. Some may make themselves believe they have “light” but deep down you know if you have it or not). I think of most things that are really really good for me in montage modes (I am a writer after all):
-It was Christmas and Jen and I had just become really good friends. We hung out for dinner and saw movies and I was floored at her kindness and generosity as I’d really only meet three or four people before then in my life who had that kind of capacity for joy of the world’s offerings (even when she was down on herself - Jen had a joy that couldn’t be blued down). I remember seeing in her TINY TINY apartment that she’d just moved into (she found it from some newsletter I’d sent her) that she didn’t have a stereo. I was in line at The Wiz picking out the biggest home stereo boom box like thing I could find. This thing was at least my size if I stood it up on it’s side. I could barely make it up her stairs but when I got there, she was floored. “Are you crazy?” she cried (in the good way). I remember feeling like I wanted her to know that she was a great person and that she deserved random acts of kindness. It was one of those presents I’ve purchased in my life where I just wanted to do something in tribute to someone.
-Same year but a month later, it was my birthday. ”Chicago” the movie was the talk of the town and Jen was flabbergasted that I, as a playwright, had never seen the play. I was so excited to see this movie that the posters took my breath away. Jen had made me a scroll that was a gift certificate to see both the movie and the film. I remember sitting next to her in the Ziegfield opening night of the movie, a little drenched from the rainy winter night, and feeling like a kid who was about to go to Neverland. Very few people had ever really taken the time to surprise me like that.
-After 9/11, I was living in New York and feeling shaky every day. I was scared in a way that didn’t make me skittish so much as it made me a shadow of myself. The following summer, there was a brown out and the majority of New Yorkers felt like it was another attack. I was tired. It was Jen who suggested we move to California. We’d visited Los Angeles and had crazy hijinx already (from the black homeless women yelling at me for hanging out with white people as I danced on our rented convertible to N.E.R.D., to eating at Asia de Cuba like we had a trust fund and giving a shout out to Dr. Dre when he walked past us once, crashing at a friend’s house while he was getting an apartment makeover by a tv show, being fixed up with a boy half my height (I’m 5″2), crashing at another friend’s house who literally needed Ridilin and a cleaning lady, hanging out with the cast of “CSI” late one night in a cloud of Mary Jane listening Billie Holiday and a D List actor trying to sing his own songs with an acoustic guitar while nobody else paid attention). These adventures for me where real adventures. For Jen, this was her life. I was game. We moved to LA.
-We lived together for a year and nobody has perfected the art of television, gossip rags and pig out food like we have.
-In a few of my questionable relationships, Jen has never judged. She has seen the good in those men but also known in her heart their good wasn’t for me.
-Her family has taken me in as one of their own on a level of generosity I’ve never really experienced since I was in grade school and I basically lived at the Youngs’ household through out junior high and most of high school. Her mother brings tears to my eyes, her Oma makes me laugh from my gut and her father George made me melt with sweetness when he was with us. It was easy to see where the light came from. They all have it.
-When my father died suddenly, Jen picked me up from my apartment and we drove out far into Malibu. I felt like a bomb had gone off in my body and my skin was left to deal. Her spirit carried me that day.
-In most of my adult crisis scenarios, she and my other “sisters” provide only support and solutions. There’s no berating, no drama, no anguish. I never feel drained after being with her except for maybe that time we spent four hours in Forever 21. We just kept saying, “Where are we?”
-When her Papa George passed away, that bomb feeling inside me came back.
-The site of her crying literally makes me deteriorate.
-Even at her own described worst, she is better than most of the people who think they are my family. This action within itself has made me search for people who could at least match her “worst” moments in my life. This is a difficult task for many.
As I write this, I kind of see the difficulty in me picking one story. There are many stories. I did tell her last night there are so many. I led off with the one that sparked it all but I really didn’t finish with the rest of this because its overwhelming in a good way to feel like somebody is in your life like her. I can only liken it to seeing your favorite play, done by your favorite actor and knowing the best monologue is coming so you hold your breath and close your eyes. Or if you surf and you see the biggest most beautiful wave coming at you and your heart skips a beat. I am lucky to experience this feeling because of who’s in my life. I realize there are so many people who will never have this experience, allow themselves to have this experience or some people who don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.
My life has been lucky. Not in the lotto sense but in the sense that I have mostly been exposed to people who are the essence of wonderful. Not just okay. Or cool. But the essence of wonderful. I have been exposed to certain people who would be deemed unreal in most circles and places. These are people who have light inside of them and have no problem sharing that light with those around them. I’m not saying that everyone is a saint or angel or perfect in any way other than being who they are. They are perfect at themselves. My whole life I wanted siblings. I had fake brothers a lot but they’ve fallen to the waste side. Recently my own brother has become my brother and there’s nothing like it. And yesterday, I realized (again joyfully) that I have sisters who keep me in their hearts as I keep them in mine - defying time, space and blood. They just are. On Jen’s birthday, I was given the gift of love again. Of the idea that the scenery on my life’s journey is perfect for itself and so is my company.
Park City - me, Marcella and Jen