Welcome to my small corner of the internet where I share the latest headlines of my life. Thank you for stopping by and I hope you’ll come back soon! –– Jody
All tagged life
I have this numerology-seventeen card that hangs on my bulletin board. I was born on February 17. On the front at the top it reads, "Discover the secrets of your day of birth." On the bottom are the words in bold caps "THE WRITER" In the middle there is the number "17" atop a multi-colored figure shaped like a diamond.
It is definitely a Friday. I've been very reflective lately, which, to be honest, hasn't done a lot for my creativity or productivity. If anything, it just has made me think about all of the goals I want to accomplish and lament how fast time seems to be flying by. Time is the great equalizer of life. We all have it, yet it is never guaranteed. How people choose to spend their time often ends up defining who they are. Some
The stack is about three inches tall, about nine manilla file folders worth. In them are about three years of intense writing work I did as part of my undergraduate studies 15 years ago while earning my degree in journalism with a minor in creative writing. The writing I crammed into those few years caused me to burn out and turn to the business world for employment immediately after college. It took me about five years to pick up a pen and notepad again when I was a reporter for a small rural newspaper in Wisconsin. I remained at the Daily Citizen for only nine months. My crime and county government beat didn't exactly bring out the passion of creative or feature writing that I was able to pursue in my college days. It did help to build my confidence, however. It affirmed the belief that I had what it took to be a reporter, even if news writing wasn't what I wanted to do.
I recently realized that I am a terrible multi-tasker, and thus, have stopped doing it. I have also come to another realization about myself: I'm a recovering perfectionist. Being a perfectionist fit comfortably into my Type-A, OCD personality, so it came easy—almost natural. Being a perfectionist has served me well for the most part. It motivated me to work hard and demand a high standard for the quality of work that I do, no matter what the task. My basic philosophy being, "If you are going to do something half-ass, don't bother doing it at all."
Do you know what I wish someone would have told me about marriage? I wish they would have said that marriage is not just a journey, but rather, it is an evolution. It is an evolution of individuality and oneness all at the same time. It is all so fun when you first meet and fall in love. Life seems boundless with possibilities, and time seems like an eternity of bliss. Everything is so blissful on your "love cloud." And even though you know (because "they" tell you) that it won't last forever, you don't believe them. Blinded by love and enraptured with a palpable passion, life is filled with an emotion that you won't believe can't last forever.
I want to share my own “This I Believe," inspired by the late, great broadcast Journalist, Edward R. Murrow.
In case you aren't familiar with "This I Believe," it was a five-minute CBS Radio Network Program, originally hosted by journalist Edward R. Murrow from 1951 to 1955. The show encourages both famous and everyday people to write short essays about their own personal motivation in life and then read them on the air. This I Believe became a cultural phenomenon that stressed individual belief rather than religious dogma. Its popularity both developed and waned within the era of US Senator Joseph McCarthy and the Cold War.
The new year always provides the opportunity to reevaluate the course life is taking me at the present moment. In my personal life, I have never been happier. I love Drew; I love being married, I love our families, I love our friends. And I am very thankful that we are healthy, live in a lovely home, and are financially secure. Yet even among such happiness, I can't deny the combination of restlessness and frustration I feel at times. More so lately than ever before. Why? I ask myself. A huge breaking point came one Sunday a couple of weeks before Christmas. Out of know where, three-quarters through the church service, I just started crying. And I couldn't stop.
