In which Jenny Lewis leads to greater self-awareness.

"You Are What You Love" - Jenny Lewis

With the Watson Twins

This song popped into my head this morning, after a few years of almost forgetting it existed. It's one of those songs that reminds me of a specific time, place, or feeling. A certain Neko Case song is reminiscent a difficult goodbye. Most Liz Phair songs remind me of what it was like to be in a sexually and emotionally confusing relationship. Play me the right Belle & Sebastian song, and I am transported to a dimly lit room in a moment so exhilarating and exciting that I forget about the coffin in the corner.

With this song, I remember, clear as a bell, being 19 years old and heartbroken for an entire summer. I had experienced two romantic flops in less than 2 months' time. These duds followed startingly identical trajectories: Meet guy. Slowly flirt and bat eyelashes. Make out. Flirt more. Fool around. CELL PHONE SILENCE. For someone as young and inexperienced as I, this double-feature of lameness devastated me. I would hole myself up in my room and listen to the same songs over and over again, this one being featured heavily. After spending many nights smoking Marlboro Lights and sneaking malt beverages on my back patio, I became convinced that I was experiencing the worst heartbreak and that I was destined for a lifetime of unrequited loves. I took the pain and ran with it, catastrophizing everything.


Years later, I don't take it so personally when flirtations fizzle out. I know now that it's very common and typically for the better. I know that not all romantic entanglements have to be novels; most are short stories and some are just blurbs. And, hello? It's totally his loss. The point is, when this kind of thing has happened to me recently, I brush it off and move on. I can say, "No big swig" to something that would have caused me indescribable pain only five years ago. That right there, is proof of lifetime progress. I have learned how to survive pain and disappointment. Better than that, I am much better at seeing things for what they are. It could have just been the product of more life experience, but it's also possible that at some point I made the conscious decision that feeling like a victim is simply not an option, especially such a trivial issue as boys. I grew up, forged on, and survived the perils of my hormones. 


So when I thought of that song, I could remember feeling such a painful association with this it, but I could not, for the life of me, recall why I had identified so strongly with it at that time. I've had similar crummy situations since then, as recently as this summer, and I just can't see myself responding with such pain. When something like that happens now, I brush it off and walk away. I take a moment to acknowledge the disappointment and move on. There are much greater heartaches to endure, much higher mountains to climb.


This disparity of response is reassuring to me. It's reassuring to know that the pain, frustration, and confusion I currently feel towards my personal life is completely tolerable. In five years, it might even seem trivial and laughable. It sucks right now, but I have to fight through it. I was obviously able to do it in college, as I stopped caring about those two lame boys by the end of that summer. I moved on. I forged on despite my heavy heart when I was 19, and the light at the end of that tunnel was the absolute brightest I had ever seen. It can happen again. I will find a new light at the end of this tunnel, too. I just have to keep fighting, keep surviving. The reward that is waiting for me will be...unimaginably wonderful.

Oh! how I forgot what it's like

Spring has sprung in Chicago, my friends. It's 53 degrees, there are buds on the trees, and all signs of a blizzard have been completely erased.

Every year, there is that pivotal first day of Spring weather that makes me feel different. I am reminded of my favorite spring. It is Spring 2006. I am a 19-year-old freshman at Elmhurst College, a small, liberal arts school nestled in the safety of Chicago suburbia. Elmhurst, IL is so beautiful in the spring, with its endless trees and beautiful flowers, all blossoming at the same time. That first year, the campus came alive again for me in the spring.

It is April. I am riding in a white truck with a senior. He is an actor, he is a popular frat boy, he has great taste in music and film, he is adorable...and he is driving me around, talking to me. Awkward, not yet grown into my face, and completely inexperienced ME. We are listening to Neko Case's "Star Witness" (which he has recently fallen in love with, causing my internal swooning to escalate to Bieber Fever levels). The sun's warmth casts a loving, protective glow over everything that passes out my open window. I am sipping delicious raspberry lemonade as the heavenly spring wind gently caresses my hair. I remove myself from the conversation and take a breath. This is life. This is adulthood. This is happiness.

Oh! how I forgot what it's like...

Neko's words cross my mind every spring. I get so caught up in the sadness of winter, the weight of it all, that I forget what comes next. I forget what it feels like to come out of the darkness and feel the warm embrace of spring's possibilities.

Spring's possibilities. I am filled with this idea every year. That first day when I remember that there are so many little things in life that are astoundingly great. Birds chirping. A quiet drive through your neighborhood. The condensation of a cold drink. Everything is magical and makes me feel young and alive. My brain races with thoughts, ideas, and plans. Nothing is out of my reach. At 19, the world was laid in front of me, waiting for me to overtake it with my brains, my wit, my pizazz, my energy. And every year, I am reminded that possibility isn't just for the 19-year-olds, for the college set. It is for all of us. The coming of spring gives each and every one of us that renewed sense of "watch out, world, here I come."

We have to embrace it and hold onto it. While I love that yearly reminder of what this moment feels like, I don't want it to be a feeling that fades and requires a reminder. I want to feel this feeling year-round, and I think I'm finally on the right path, the path that will give me springtime motivation year-round.

Oh! how I forgot what it's like.

Oh, how I forgot! And oh, how it feels to be ready.

No Makeup Week-- Day Two

I have to start with a big WOOHOO!  This afternoon, Jezebel picked up Rabbit’s original No Makeup Week post.  This thing just got big.  Way to go, Mommy Rachel!  <3

Over the last two days, I have spent a great amount of time explaining No Makeup Week to people.  Several of my fellow women have responded with similar sentiments: “I don’t wear much makeup anyway.”  “Every week is no makeup week for me.”  I came away from these reactions with a big WHY floating in a bubble over my head.

I can’t speak for Rabbit or any other woman participating in this experiment, but I can do some personal self-exploration as to why this is an important week for me.

I mentioned in my Day One post that I have rules about makeup.  Anyone who has taken a basic Psych 100 course can see that this is obviously rooted in low self-esteem.  That’s an easy assumption.  Let’s explore what we don’t know.

I was not allowed to wear makeup in middle school, save for translucent and/or scented lip gloss; I was the Queen of Bonne Bell.  I watched other girls my age blossom into their training bras, batting their mascara-coated lashes at boys with spiked hair.  I was awkward, flat-chested, and bare-faced.  I felt invisible.  For three years, I floated underneath the yellowing fluorescent lights, gliding past the purple lockers, completely unnoticed.  It wasn’t until the very end of 8^th grade that I found a bag of my mother’s discarded makeup.  Inside the bag I discovered what would become my new best friend: liquid eyeliner.  Choosing to live dangerously, I applied the liner ever so carefully to my lids and just like that, I was someone new.  I looked older and cuter.  I saw the inherent beauty in my large eyes.  Paired with a nude-pink gloss, I looked chic and edgy (well, as chic and edgy as a Buffy obsessed 14-year-old could look.)  I don’t remember what my mother said about the new look, if anything, but I do know this: I did not get in trouble.  Makeup was no longer taboo and I could finally mature with my peers.

For the last 10 years, I have been brainwashed by black eyeliner.  The black liquid against my pale skin and piercing blue eyes completely transformed my face.  This was a face I could learn to like.  I slowly started to feel pretty.  The makeup became a mask not just for my face, but for my personality.  It was all a façade created to hide the shy, insecure, spazzy girl that lurked beneath the heavy eye makeup and bold lips.  With makeup, I could be whoever I wanted to be, as long as that person wasn’t me.  Aside from being a byproduct of low self-esteem, hiding behind eye makeup caused quite a problem with my self-identity…I didn’t have one. 

This is the crux of why No Makeup Week is an important experiment for me.  Only in the past few years have I slowly started to establish self-identity, but I’m still entangled in my special relationship with eye makeup.  I know I’m an intelligent, snarky, passionate person with a great deal of worth and people seem to respond positively to my presence.  Despite knowing this, there is still a part of me that believes that I’m none of these things with naked eyelids.  I feel like I am defined by my makeup.

Sometimes, when I’m getting ready for a night out, my boyfriend, Justin, will ask why I need to wear the makeup.  “Babe, you’re beautiful.  Who are you trying to impress?”  I used to give the response, “It’s for me, not for anyone else.”  The line was delivered with confidence.  I played the part of a confidently sexy woman who lavished in the feminine feelings of being dolled up.  What I’ve realized over the past two days is that, yes, I am wearing the makeup just for me…it is there for me to feel normal.  I do love putting on makeup, but I'm loving it for the wrong reasons.  I love how it changes me and hides my flaws, rather than how it showcases my natural beauty.  That’s just not the right attitude and, frankly, I need to stop lying to myself.

I have not touched my liquid liner since Saturday night.  I have had a completely bare face since late Sunday afternoon.  Nothing horrible has happened to me.  I still crack the same jokes.  People I know still greet me in passing.  I am still ME.  This is why I desperately needed No Makeup Week.  I needed to be reminded that I have worth and that my beauty is more than eyeliner and lipstick.  My beauty emanates from my natural looks and personality.

So listen, black liquid eyeliner, I love you, but I feel like this 10-year relationship has become a bit controlling and abusive.  I KNOW, I know, you didn’t mean to make me feel this way, but this is what is happening.  I just feel that we need to take break from each other and get to know ourselves.  I’ll never forget the positive things you’ve done for me, but I need to forget the negative parts of our love.  I hope that we can remain friends and be there for each other when it’s right.

Bright-eyed and eyeliner free!