All The Best, Jess

I don't know about anyone else, but 2019 was a lot. I thought that trying to recap a decade in a blog post would be hard, but I've been sitting in front of a blank screen for weeks trying to piece through just the last three months. Then, as soon as I thought I had things figured out, something would change and throw things into chaos again. What I meant to write for Thanksgiving became a thing to write for my birthday, and then Christmas, and now it is 5:30pm on New Year's Eve, and I only have a vague idea of what to say.  A few weeks ago I was sitting in my living room--in the dark, I might add, because I had a concussion--talking to a few of my friends. One of them remarked that I had been hurt in every way possible over the past month and a half. I thought that sounded really dramatic, but honestly? I think there was a decent amount of truth in it. Things have been hard. At the beginning of this particular rough stretch, I wrote in one of my journals that this was th...

It's been a couple of months since I've written on here again. In January, I had this grand plan to write at least once a month, and I did so well with it until I got home from my first year at school. Then life happened. My summer was, in a word, nuts. I worked at a total of places of employment. I received my endowments in the Houston Temple (for friends not of my faith, this is a sacred ceremony where I make covenants or promises with God to prepare for eternity), broke up with my first boyfriend, understudied in a show for some friends, performed my first solos in almost a year outside of church, took a break from voice lessons for the first time in eight years, and tried to figure out who the heck I was and where I wanted to go. Then I went back to school. Between my first apartment, getting a calling in my ward that I do not feel at all qualified for, some unfortunate social situations, changes in family dynamics, mental health struggles for both myself and my closest fr...

There is a woman who comes to make a return at work. She tells me "I saw how sad my son was when I didn't get a science kit...I can do without these because I want to make him happy." At times, retail is not nearly as soul-crushing as anyone (myself included) makes it out to be. My brother and I are staying up way too late watching YouTube videos. It is one of the moments I do not miss being at school. This is simple, but it is better because of who I am with. We are laughing, hopefully not loud enough to wake up our parents. I am sitting alone in the art museum. Van Gogh's "Lilacs" reflects in the space behind my eyelids. My journal is open and my mind is clear. It has taken this long, but I can finally find peace in some moments of solitude. Work is rough at times, and one night I can't bear to sit still. My oldest friend picks me up and we drive downtown, looking at the lights and talking about anything. I often joke that my life is overly drama...

This is to everyone, but this is most especially to my friends on the edge, looking out over nothing and wondering if that would be easier, if that would be kinder, if that would be better. I do not pretend to know your pain and experiences, for those are yours and no one else can truly comprehend them, but I know what my pain feels like, and I know where I've been and what I've survived, and I have a few things to say. The world is dark. Things are not easy. It is hard to look at the hate that is everywhere, the wars that are being waged, and all that we are losing or have lost and see anything that can make continuing worth it. There are things you are going through, or have gone through, that you have done nothing to deserve. There are people who hurt that leave you with echoes in your mind and scars on your heart and I am so sorry, but I cannot take them away. I cannot erase the things that are wrong, and I cannot pretend that it goes away easily. People like to sa...

I have always struggled with being blunt. I think it's part of the nature of artists, or perhaps just the nature of being human, but I want to make things sound prettier than they look, softer than they feel, gentler than they sound, and better than they are. I will start a post about the things I struggle with, only to have to restart because I am apologizing where there is no need, romanticizing things beyond my right, or just simply being too vague and far too specific within the same paragraph. I am not a perfect person, and therefore I am far from a perfect writer. I honestly don't know exactly what I want to say right now, but I want to write. I want to be able to put some of the thoughts that have been racing inside of me out in the world because then I can really process it, put everything to rest, and start anew. Things are always changing, and if this year has taught me anything, it's that waiting will get you nowhere. Though it may be shaky, I have to keep w...

I'll be honest, I have sat with this blank post on my computer for about five days now. I want to write, but sometimes I find myself paralyzed in the face of actually putting words down and publishing them. Somewhere along the way, over the course of a literal decade, loving writing started walking with being scared of not sounding "right" when it came time to actually sharing the things I have to say. This is not an experience unique to me--I'm pretty sure almost everyone who loves doing something struggles putting themselves out there because, well, what if everyone else doesn't love it? Loving something is so challenging because that love makes you want to be good at it, but "good" is almost always subjective. This is not a new struggle for me, but it is one I have become increasingly aware of over the last semester, and not just in writing. Most people know this, but my first love is music, closely followed by acting. As someone who is studying ...

It came to my attention recently that I do not know how to live without trying to live up to expectations. For as long as I have been aware of the world, I have been unable to ignore the feeling that someone is watching and measuring me up to some impossibly high standard that I have to reach somehow, sometime soon, no matter the cost. So I work. I have a job, I take at least 15 credits a semester, I attend church and clubs and fulfill my calling, I get my homework done on time and I have never paid a late fee for a test. Maybe I should be proud of this; I used to be proud of things like this. There was a sense of satisfaction in having things under control, but lately I have begun to see that I am wound so tightly that cracks have started forming where the pressure has built up. Instead of feeling at peace when I finish an assignment, I only feel my heart beating, working so I can work, and then I feel guilty. Even with all my knowledge of mental health and the negative impacts of st...