A post to celebrate the life of an absolutely amazing person, of whom I have had the distinct honor of knowing for the majority of my life. 

While he may have departed from us much too early, he lives forever in the hearts and memories of many.

Andrew Bruce Taylor

I had the pleasure of being in his presence not so very long ago, and this song now takes on an entirely new meaning. May it always bring a smile to my face, in memory of the laughs we shared a mere few weeks ago:

Dear friend, you are deeply missed. May you now have found the peace you sought.

There’s nothing wrong with doing your best. In fact, we’ve oft been told by our mothers and mentors that one should always try to do their best. Mediocracy is generally unacceptable in this cruel dog-eat-dog world.

So then when, and why exactly, does doing your best go from being productive to a down right problem?

I call myself a Near-Perfectionist because I don’t think of myself as a perfectionist per se; as clearly evidenced the moment you step into my humble 2nd floor abode. My apartment doesn’t look like Hurricane Katrina packed up and moved in, but it’s obvious I didn’t get the nick name Messie Jessie for nothing. There are many areas in my life, even beyond the doors of my living space, in which “half ass” is completely acceptable, and generally preferred. 

But in other sectors I definitely hold myself to unrealistic expectations, and more often than not think that no matter how many atta-girls come my way, I could have done some part of the whole shabang better. This will continue to haunt me and eat away a little at my precious little soul until I get a chance to do another something that gives me the opportunity to try and get it exactly right. But like any cyclical pattern, it doesn’t get any better and the problem simply continues.

I seem to have happened upon conversations involving my two favorite things in this world ( a. Me, and b. topics that I have already been internally chewing on for a while) in the last week. I’ve talked at length on the subjects of mindfulness, embracing who you are, focusing on the present, focusing on the process and not the product, and the very real negative health effects of perfectionism. And let me tell you, being the ultimate self-analyzer I am, none of the information was new to me as I have been a student of all the aforementioned for quite some time now. 

So the question I pose here is: why is it that within some people resides the mindset that it is ok to know you could do better, but yet simply leave it as is, while for others “as is” will never be enough because there is always something that can be improved upon? And further, how is it that those dichotomies can live within the same person, only exposing themselves in different circumstances?

It is at this point I would like to introduce you to the Navajo Nation. These expert rug makers and beaders intentionally leave slight imperfections and flaws in their work, because in their theory only the Great Spirit is perfect, and we as humans can never achieve perfection. We could all stand to learn a great deal from the Navajos in this respect. 

However, I would like to point out the irony in this strategy. If you are intentionally designing flaws into your creation, isn’t your completed project exactly how you wanted it, which is in turn making it “perfect”?

Either way, I think I am going to take my cue from the Navajo, and take a first step towards releasing the grips of “I can do better than this”. I am going to intentionally leave this post as it is, already knowing I don’t like the cadence and structure of the published product. And sure, I will look back at this post some day, cringing as I do so, wonder what the heck I was I was thinking, have the urge to hit “edit” to fix all those little mistakes and fantasize about rewording the sentences so they are just right. 

But I’m not going to do that. This is one of those circumstances where I have the insatiable urge to make something perfect, but I’m going to fight it. I KNOW I could do better (and if this is your first time reading my blog, continue to peruse my posts, if for nothing else but my sake). 

This time, I’m going to let half-ass be just right.

And to all my fellow (near-)perfectionists out there, I suggest you choose one thing in your life and, even if just this once, let it reach it’s full half-ass potential. I feel your pain, but I know you can do it… perfectly.

Notice, the author is a lefty

As I sit here, relishing a few bites of Ben & Jerry’s Half Baked frozen yogurt and doing my best to tune out the mindless banter that is prime time network television, I can’t help but sit here and think of you.

I wonder if you are lonely. I wonder if you sit in restless anticipation of the next time I will drop by, tracing the edges of your white, rounded posts with the litter of my thoughts and words. I wonder if you grow tired of regaling the same stories over and over again to the loyal folks that stop by to visit you every day, while I seem to ignore your presence and give you nothing further to share with them.

I promise you that I have not forgotten about or deserted you, dearest blog.

Our love was becoming a troubled love; our relationship was headed in a direction I no longer saw as productive.  No longer were our deep, introspective exchanges and witty social observations. We were becoming boring, dear blog. 

Over the last few months I made attempts to revive what had originally brought us together. When our disquisitions were good they were good, and we shared them with the world; but when they were bad we as acted as any couple should- we worked out our problems away from the eyes of the world. Our friends did not see the hardships we faced, and were not aware of the number of times we had to agree to disagree on what topics of conversation were worth sharing with our audience.

I had to make a difficult decision, but one that I think has been for the best for everyone, and will ultimately bring us back to our original purpose and splendor. I decided we needed to take a break. 

Oh my beloved blog, I hope that you can appreciate what I have done to save what we had together. I promise I have not abandoned you, and will continue to tickle your pages with my presence. But what we are attempting takes time and work. Perhaps merely the fact that I now make my concerns public will put us back on the right path. I believe it already has.

I apologize for my vacillating attention without explanation. At the risk of sounding cliche, it wasn’t you, darling blog, it was me. I was not gone, only reevaluating. I feel optimistic that we will not only return to what we once were, but that we will become what we were always meant to be. And I feel optimistic that that time is near.

Until then,

Jess

We stroll these city streets

Savoring the summer’s wet relief

As it dances across our shoulders

And gently kisses upon our cheeks

Do you remember the first time you heard the album that changed your life? I do. I never actually owned the album, but did have it on long-term-loan from a friend. The day I gave it back was a sad, sad day. But today, as I was engaging in one of my favorite pastimes, yard sale-ing, I spotted it’s familiar jacket, carelessly tossed in a box of random wares, and I snatched that baby up.

Now, as it sit here listening to it all over again, I am reminded of a post I wrote about it on a former (and less public) blog. So now, I blow off the dust and share something from the Messie Jessie archives:

Tuesday, June 24, 2008 

Everything is Everything- The REeducation of Messie Jessie
Current mood:  catalyzed 
Category: Music

Isn’t it funny how things always seem to find you just when you need them? To me, that means the universe is telling you that you’re on the right track.

In a desperate attempt to divert my seemingly magnetic draw of the weirdos on the subway, I took the suggestion to listen to some music during my commute. It didn’t matter if I was actually listening to anything, just as long as I looked like I was. I needed to appear as if no matter how much you felt compelled to talk to me, I wouldn’t be able to hear you, thus keeping me out of a plethora of uncomfortable and annoying situations. But, being me, I decided that if I was going to have the earbuds in, I might as well have something coming out of them. Since I brought just the basics with me while I live in my friend’s livingroom, unfortunately the CD’s didn’t make the priority list. Graciously, my friend let me borrow a CD from her (sparse) collection.  I didn’t have many options, and even fewer appealing ones, but among the wreckage there was The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. I always liked her, but never listened to the entire album so I thought I’d give it a shot. I knew she got a lot of acclaim for it, but I figured even if it wasn’t my style I could just turn it off and pretend to rock out.

Turns out, I really like the CD. So, I’m sittin’ on the subway, jammin’ to some Lauryn, when up comes track number 8: When It Hurts So Bad. Now, I know this CD came out in 1998, but it was like Lauryn and I were totally on the same wavelength. It was like she plucked the thoughts right out of my head -10 years before I even thought them- when she sang “What you want might make you cry/ What you need might pass you by/ If you don’t catch it/ And what you need ironically/ Will turn out what you want to be/ If you let it”.

As the tracks progress, it was like I was making the evolution in thought and emotion right along side her. By the time I got to Track 13 Everything is Everything, all my positive affirmations were being reaffirmed when she sang “What is meant to be will be/ After winter must come spring/ Change, it comes eventually”. In that moment I felt like I could take on the world.  It was as if Lauryn was my soul sista, no matter what she ever said about white people. By the time I got to where I was going, I wanted nothing more than to write her a fan letter, telling her how much I loved her, thank her for understanding and apologize for everything my race did to her race…. Ever.

So, here’s where I get all sappy and philosophical on ya. When people talk about everything happening for a reason, even if you can’t see it at that time, you really need to believe them. If all those bizarre and creepy dudes hadn’t invaded my personal space ten too many times, I would have never thought to listen to music on the sub, and I would have never shared the inspiration and camaraderie with the fabuloz Miss Lauryn Hill.

P.S. And God damn, this album is still as relevant as it was on day one.

What I really hate the most is when I think I see you,

My eyes glisten with the chance just to glance upon you

but then you disappear

or worse, come near

And its clear the face does disagree with the real you,

What really hurts the most is when I think I see you

Tangential

• Merely touching or slightly connected
• Superficially relevant
• Digressive

How I encountered this word:

A friend of mine went on a few dates with this guy, which she admitted were somewhat awkward (but what first few dates aren’t?). The last time they had a date guy invited her to his house and he cooked her dinner; which for all you men out there, sends us ladies the signal that you really dig us. They made a little kissy-face, and before she departed for the evening guy said he would email her to plan a next date. That was nearing six weeks ago. No email, no call, no nothing. It was almost as if guy had been forced into the witness protection program, never to be heard from again.

Today she calls me to report that in a response a recent facebook status update about a change in her employment, guy adds a random comment that says, “Oh my. But this sounds good, so yay”! Her response (to me): “Seriously, what a tangential way to make a come back in someone’s life after all this time. Why even bother?” Her response (to him): A message simply stating “Dude, what the hell happened to you?” Classic.

We all like to double our pleasure once in a while, which is why Double Mint gum is so darn popular. Since it’s been a while, I thought I would share some of my latest musical stylings. Enjoy!

And by special request from the most adorable nephews ever. I’m told the 2 year old say’s “more zippy”! Who can resist such cuteness?

Welcome to the Twitter Nation

We’ve become a nation of Tweeters. We update the world on our every move in 140 characters or less. Welcome to the Twitter Nation.

April 15, 2009. That marks the day I officially became a tweeter. Originally, I joined because I wanted another gimmick to get readers to my site. You see, the folks at wordpress understood the draw, and gave us bloggers the ability to add our twitter updates to a side bar on our pages. Just look to your right at the “all-a-twitter” box to see for yourself. I thought it would be a nifty way for people to find something new on my site even if I hadn’t updated a full blog post yet.

The problem? I began ignoring my blog and got sucked into instant twits. The attraction is strong, you see. I can update my facebook status, my blog sidebar, and my twitter account, all with one simple text message from my cell phone, and in less than 30 seconds usually. Writing a decent blog entry from start to publish takes me at least 120 thirty-second intervals. That’s a lot of tweets.

The other problem is that I’ve found I’m losing my ability to write anything decent in longer than 140 characters. I start running into problems after the first paragraph, then get all flustered and end up trashing the entire idea. It’s like the worst case of creative block ever. And I’m not the only one having this problem, all thanks to twitter. John Mayer is a tweeter I follow, and he mentioned it’s actually affecting his ability to write songs. He publicly stated in a recent tweet that he’s now making an effort to cut back on his updates; to which I sorely miss, as his tweets are always entertaining. (Check him out at twitter.com/johncmayer)

Perhaps it’s becoming an international paradigm shift. But if this is true, twitter is not completely to blame. It’s the internet in general. Since the invention of comment threads to articles, discussion forums and social networking (yes, beloved facebook included), people have slowly been shortening their thoughts into smaller and smaller constructs. Looking back, my most visceral writing cannot be found within this blog, but rather splattered upon the pages of journals that I’ve kept over the years. Sadly, I haven’t touched my journal since early summer of 2008 when I apologized to it for my lack of attention due to the seduction of the blogging world.

What’s worse, any self-respecting, non-pseudonym-using blogger can tell you most of what you read is quite censored. We have to keep in mind that people we actually care about read these things, such as our mothers, friends, boyfriends (including here the ex- and potential- ones), maybe even our employers or coworkers. Names are removed, our raw internal reactions to real life interactions are toned down, our deepest desires remain masked by fancy verbiage, and all in all a less than honest interpretation of reality.  We have to be careful what we put out there for the entire world to read. And trust me, that takes a bit of work and couth.

So maybe thats why people like twitter so much- its like mobile blogging, only easier. How many people can you piss off in so few words? (Note: that is not a dare folks, I’m sure you can piss off a lot of people in a few words. Just ask Perez Hilton- twitter.com/perezhilton). But it seems like the norm has become “if you can’t say it in less than 140 characters, it ain’t worth saying”. One fellow tweeter, who has recently gained some notoriety for his ability, actually writes entire stories within those character limits (see for yourself at twitter.com/astoryin140).

Even now I’m finding it difficult to put together an entire blog post. My mind keeps thinking of a few short sentences that sound really great; filling the spaces between is what’s causing me some trouble. Maybe I should just acquiesce and simmer this entire post down to 140 characters:

I blame twitter for stifling creativity & keeping us from expressing any stimulating thought unless it fits within 140 chars. Go articulate!

One hundred forty exactly, peoples. That’s sad.

Right up until Memorial Day Weekend I was completely unconcerned with my single-hood. In fact, I was happy with it. I didn’t need any man to boost my already inflated ego. I did as I pleased, had no one to answer to, and enjoyed life as it came. When I would go out I didn’t have an invisible sign posted on my forehead reading “ISO Next Boyfriend”. I could have cared less if I happened to catch the eye of a member of the opposite sex.

About three weeks ago, all that changed.

Let’s revisit Memorial Day Weekend. That Friday night my gal pal asked me if I wanted to go to a party with her. She told me it would be low key and there would only be a few people there. I didn’t know anyone who would be in attendance, but I had nothing better to do, so I decided to tag along. I threw on a nice-but-casual shirt, kept on my dirty jeans, slipped on some flips, and we headed out.

Nothing remarkable occurred at this party. She was right, it was low key. I spent the evening talking with other guests about grown-up stuff like buying houses, the job market, and infomercial products. If I recall correctly, I believe I had two beers the entire time I was there. There was one dude there, who I remember thinking was handsome, but had no further conversation with other than a group discussion on the magic of the Sham-Wow. Somewhere around 11pm my gal pal and I decided to hit the streets of South Philly and head home.

The next day I thought no more of the party, or anyone who had been there. While drinking coffee and feeding into my FaceBook addiction, I notice I had a friend request. Inserted in the request was a personal message asking, “are you Jess from last night”? Immediately I realized it was the dude from the party whom I had thought in passing was handsome. I confirmed the request and that I had been “Jess from last night”. 

Quick overview of the next 3-4 weeks: After several emails back and forth, dude asks me out on a date. We go out an average of twice a week. I really start digging on dude, and read into our interactions that he feels the same. One Sunday we go out to dinner and, to me, it seems we had a fabulous time and were really on the same page about where this is going. I go home completely smitten.

The following Friday we make plans to get together that night, and the subject of who’s house to hang out comes up. That’s when, while at work, I get an email (a friggin’ email for cryin’ out loud) from dude saying that he doesn’t want this to go any further than casual dating and is not interested in anything more “serious” than that. My stomach does a 180, my brain does a mental double take, and all I can think to myself is “how could I have read this situation so completely wrong”?? Naturally, my response was (via telephone, and after noting an email was a seemingly insensitive and cowardly way of relaying such info) “well, if you’re not with the program, then I am going to have to change the channel”. I added, “If you ever decide to come over to the ‘dark side’, you have my number”. I wasn’t angry, but I was seriously bummed.

That was about three weeks ago. Over that time I have found myself lamenting over the fact that I don’t have that “someone special” more often then I care to admit. I’ve mentally reviewed my previous relationships and realized most of the time I was the “dumpee” rather than the “dumper”. I complained to a male coworker about it, to which he responded, “well, you do give off a ‘casual’ vibe”. I’ve gone back to a conversation I had with a male friend several months ago when, over a few drinks, he said to me, “I’d make out with you, but I wouldn’t date you”. I had chalked that one up to him just being a womanizer (which, in all honesty, he is), but now I can’t help but wonder if there was some truth in his statement. I never get asked out, I am always the pursuer, and at this point I can’t help but ponder: what is wrong with me??? I really like who I am and think I am really quite a catch, so why doesn’t anyone else recognize this?

Now, at this point I feel compelled to inject that I do realize most of this self-deprecation probably arises from the fact that it was a “he’s just not that into me” situation, versus a “I’m just not that into him” kinda gig. And I also do realize that like any other temporary state, this too shall pass. But still, I’m not the only woman I know in this condition. I can’t tell you how many of my lady friends complain about the same frustration.

We are what I call “ASS”es: Attractive, Successful, and Single. We’ve got the total package, and yet we are all single as the day is long. One would think that we would be prime targets for any man of equally top-quality stature. But somehow, here we all are, hopelessly dateless. Are men, as a fellow ASS put it, too intimidated to ask us out? Do people automatically assume we are taken? Or is it as another ASS fears, that we excrete some weird chemical that repels the opposite sex?

Whatever it may be, for me personally the real frustration lies in that ever since I was put in the “casual dating” category by dude, I can’t seem to get back to that single-and-content-with-it state that I once was. I’m still not seeking out Mr. Right (or even Mr. Right Now for that matter) whenever I exit the house, but now I’m left with the lingering pangs of “why can’t someone just ‘be into me’”? I’m not alone in this, but still, what a bummer.