Tonight was a good reminder about simplicity.
The main event didn’t cost any money. It didn’t even involve going anywhere, really. And mmmmm, there was definitely toast involved. Nice crunchy, perfectly buttered toast for which you mourn the last bite but pretend not to because who gets sad over that?
Okay, so a few of us do, but who admits it?
Okay, so I do: I really like toast and it makes me sad when I finish it. There. Now that I’ve bared my soul, do you feel close to me? Because my affinity for toast is definitely the deepest thing I’ve shared here lately. Can’t wait to see the controversial comments that this garners.
But other than the toast, the thing that struck me is the way that conversation can fill a room and make life better than television. And although I like to watch Teen Mom just as much as the next person, there’s something about digging deep within yourself and then dumping it out before a trusted friend and vice versa.
And something else: it’s really empowering to tell my story. And though I hope to God that I don’t ever become a person who drones on and on about the rotten hand she was dealt back in ’09, there’s freedom that comes in talking about what’s happened. Even in relating the memories, describing the images that crowd my mind at night.
The first time I met with my counselor about all this hullabaloo (I realize that word sounds like something involving lots of brightly colored cartoons and maybe even a pair of googly eyes, but actually it can mean something quite serious. Like an upheaval. Disturbance. Uproar. So yeah, I’m gonna stick with hullabaloo), but the first time I met with my counselor, I talked for three hours straight.
He started out the session with a notepad and pen, poised and ready for action, but after about the first hour of me just describing the events that had recently darkened my sun he slowly put down his pen and simply let me talk. He’d stop me only to clarify something, since I am not always the most linear story teller, but other than that he just got out of the way as the dam within me finally began to give.
Once three hours had gone by I realized I was exhausted and I also realized something else: I had not yet been able to tell anybody what had happened in my life. This was the first time and it actually felt good. And then there was the fact that he didn’t look at me as if my life is over, that he kept telling me over and over again that God has a plan for my life and even a good one at that.
Whoa.
Okay.
But, whoa.
And so tonight my friend and I talked. We talked like words were in season and nobody was gonna run out of them anytime soon because there was always the cellar and all the extra jars of it that were stored down there; we were lavish and generous with our conversation and even managed to make fun of some of the things that suck so much.
After we cried about them first, of course.
And there we were, either in the living room or the kitchen, and nobody was bored and nobody was wondering what it was we were going to do. Because we were already doing it.
We were talking and God, it was good.
It really is quite a phenomena that simply talking about something can drain it of so much of its power, isn’t it? Like, just a terrible, terrifying thing can seem so much more… manageable if you discuss it with the right person in the right way. I’m glad you’ve been getting the chance to talk about all of the events and feelings you’ve been struggling with. And I’m dying to know who this “friend” was, too.
haha you are such a silly goose. this “friend” is Christine!!!
I’m glad too that you have someone to talk to about all this. I pray that all the people that you talk to treat your words with respect and care.
Now I have this image in my mind of your parents’ basement filled with shelves with jars of words on them.
lol. yep, that’s right–if you ever need to borrow some words, come grab a jar! where do you think I found the word, ‘hullabaloo?”
Jess..im so glad that you were and are able to talk about it..im glad for safe, kind people in your life..it does feel better when we can pour our hearts out and know that we are loved and understood..there is healing in that. you deserve so many good things..and your counselor is right, you do have a good future ahead..
thank you…I keep telling myself that. about the good future, I mean. I think I need a chalkboard so that I can write it 100 times in a row…
Sometimes there’s nothing like a good, buttery piece of toast. I completely agree. There’s also not much that compares with good conversation with a great friend…put the two together and that is definitely the recipe for a great evening. Not that I would know ; ) And by the way…you already don’t drone on and on about the bad hand you’ve been dealt so I don’t foresee that happening in your future. It’s already clear that the story you tell will be one of life conquering death, of hope defeating despair, and of the power of grace to do the impossible.
thanks..,and if I DO become that person who drones on and on…well, just shoot me. With a water gun, maybe, but still–you can totally shoot me:)
Good. I’m glad you are talking. There’s a reason why talking about things with a trusted person makes things much better. When we talk, we no longer just use our left brain but we start using our right brain and we can begin to see things less black and white.
So glad you have trusted friends. I, myself, get by with “a little help from my friends.”
whoa, mom–right brain and left brain? this was a very educational comment. And now I know that I am using both sides of brain, so thank you;-)
I love buttered toast, especially a really sturdy piece of bread that, once toasted, just sucks up the butter! Glad you got to have some…and some good conversation with a trusted friend, of course! In my opinion, the only thing that would have made that a better combination would be a nice cup of tea…was there tea, too?…because that’s what I see when I read this! Bless you, Jess.
no tea, kathie–basically because I am a weirdo and don’t drink coffee OR tea:/
I have long contended that the toast process is the quickest, easiest way to change something so dramatically, so that it really barely recognizes what it was, and is just incredible. I love non-toasted bread, too. But toasted something really does kick it to another level.
it’s so good it’s RIDIC. with an ‘i,’ Just saying.
A good buttered toast goes best with conversation and a cup of hot cocoa!
I love you Jessica, and it strengthens my faith to see God’s presence in your life, walking you through this, sharing the burden of it all. Keep your chin up!
Ooh…toast with hot cocoa! That works, too!
I also agree with the rest of Michele’s comment
There should be some punctuation at the end of that sentence…a period, at least.
yes–I can agree on hot cocoa. So hot cocoa it is, then!!!
Well… I’m not going to pretend that I don’t wish you were here in our living room by the fire on one of these recent cold Topanga nights having a long talk, eating toast and drinking cocoa and listening to the way the rain sounds on the roof (and incidentally, last night my heart almost stopped because a torrent started and I thought there must be hundreds of rats suddenly racing across the attic floor above me–which sadly would not be out of the realm of possibility as of late.) But more than my wish to be with you myself is a wish that your heart feels safe within the space of a good, trusted friend. And I am so very glad for the evening of buttered toast and uncorked bottles of words, spoken and understood, and mostly for the gift of being with one of your best friends in all the world.
and I am not going to pretend that I don’t wish I was there, too, hearing all those torrents of rats scampering across the roof…
Okay, I know this is off topic- but I LOVE the imagery of “We talked like words were in season and nobody was gonna run out of them anytime soon because there was always the cellar and all the extra jars of it that were stored down there…”
That’s great writing!
thanks, Susan. and a compliment is never off topic in my book:-)