Guest Post: There's Only One You

Ms. Jenna Z., my cousin's daughter and, gulp, one of my flower girls, is graduating from high school this year.

​Holla'!

Growing up, Jen wasn't having any of that kids' table bullshit. She was much more interested in what was going on with the adults.​

And it shows.

She's one deep cat.

Now that I've sufficiently embarrassed her, this is how she wrote her way into college, Hamline University, Saint Paul, Minnesota, where she hopes to study public relations, then eventually work for Disney.

They'd be lucky to have her:

When I think of an artist or work of art that has impacted my life, the one artist who flashes into my mind is Vincent van Gogh.

I remember the day we watched the film in seventh grade art class.  I was sitting at my paint stained table staring at the blank screen. When my art teacher said, "Today we are watching a movie on Vincent van Gogh."

He popped in the disk and pressed play. We all sat on our art stools staring at the screen, as the film unfolded his life. The students in the class laughed when he began going insane. They giggled at the thought of him sending half of his ear to his one, true love.

Then there was me; I sat there feeling sorry for him, wishing I were able to tell him how influential his work will be in the future.

Once the movie was over, our teacher asked us our thoughts regarding him. There was a girl in my grade who sat at my table, her hand shot up and she whined, "I think he was weird. Like he cut off his own ear. You don’t do that. No one liked him because he was weird."

My teacher said, "Well, I guessed some of you would think that."

Then, I looked at him and nervously said, "I just really wish I could have seen the world through his eyes. I wish I could see the night sky the way he did, the flowers, everything."

I saw his eyes glow as he stated, "That’s exactly what I wished I was able to do. I’m glad you understand."

To this day this conversation runs through my mind so clearly. This was the first time I had ever really fell in love with an artist's work. It made me understand that no matter how hard I try; I will never be like everyone else. 

Sometimes, I stare at A Starry Night and watch as the colors swirled together to form the night sky; colors that the average person would not think were in the sky as boldly as he showed them. They all swirled together to form the notion of wind swirling though the lands, the stars glowing brightly off the canvas. I had never seen a painting like that. 

The colors were not fully blended together and somehow, to me, this told more of a story than a normal painting. I decided that I too, could paint what I want. It seems to me that the oddest things have the strongest impact. So I began to paint. When I felt lonely or down, painting always made me feel better. Everywhere I look, I am reminded of how beautiful the world is. 

I always take the time to look at the sky now, just to look at all the colors that swirl around, because of Vincent van Gogh, I am able to appreciate the things around me and see their beauty.

And Now A Word For The Graduates...

Watch out Class of 2012---I may just wander onto a podium near you. And read this:

Congratulations Class of 2012.

Yay! You did it.

Now savor it for a second. Okay, a weekend even, but for the love of god, please don't cap it off here. Go forth. Work on improving your bad-ass eighteen year or twenty-two-year-old self. Because if these are the best years of your life--forever--you're doing something wrong.

No seriously. Boo-hoo for you. Trust. You don't want to live in the past. There's a huge difference between reflecting back on your accomplishments and pining for your lost youth. Whatever your biggest achievement has been to date, you need to up it. Once, twice, three times shoot.

You don't want to be that forty-five-year-old dude, still basking in those glory days of high school. Go on, do the math. That's more than thirty years since said guy actually made some memories worth remembering. And is there any reason that depression is at an all time high?

The truth is, you don't have to lose your youthful spirit. Really. No, really. Those rules of adulthood? They'll try to creep in. The shoulds. The musts. But the truth is, outside of paying your mortgage on time, there really isn't a whole lot that's important. The other stuff? Just lame. Keep being curious. And enthusiastic. And wear a bikini as long as you can rock one.

You get the drill.

But the real secret? Always walk the path that's right for you. Easy enough? Eventually, maybe. But here's the thing. At the beginning, those who think they know what's best, for not only you, but for everyone else in this whole wide world, will be shouting the virtues of that traditional roadmap.

Yup. More of those shoulds. And musts.

Go ahead. Blame that genius, who once upon a time, decided that life doesn't fall oh so neatly in line when you're allowed to just play it out as an adventure. You need a guide. Or a series of carefully crafted benchmarks that generations before you, and generations after, have used to help them find their way. And gauge success. What's up next? Well, it all depends where you are on that timeline. You've got your education, or at least part of it. So it's on to a great job. Then marriage? Of course. House? Naturally. Kids? Why the hell not.

Keep to the plan and you can bet there will be no trouble. No conflict. No contest. It makes folks feel better when you're doing things at the same pace that you're 'supposed to.' It's when you start to deviate that you'll really start to shake people up. And make them feel uncomfortable. They'll start wondering what the hell is wrong with you. And why 'you' are not more like 'us.'

Take comfort in the discomfort, my friend, because that's how you'll know you're on the right track. That you're living life authentically. Going against the grain will make you stronger, for the simple reason that you'll have to define who you are. And own it. And shake off all of the people who just want you to be easy. And predictable. And 'normal.'

Because, really, where's the fun in that?

Making Some Noise

Let's just get this out of the way. I, Dawn L. Keable, was voted most quiet girl of my senior class.

Slightly shocking right? I think so too.

My confession is dual fold. First, I'm actively trying to hedge off the local media, should something tragic happen to me and the only image they can find is the photo of me and my boy, Matt Barden, straight outta the time warp that is the 1989 Burrillville High School yearbook.

He held the title of most quiet boy. I have no updates on him.

I specifically remember that photo session, because I thought very carefully about my outfit. I wanted to wear something that screamed 'I am not this label that you are putting on me', so I opted for the loudest article of clothing in my possession:  a neon green striped sweater.

Only the photo was taken in black and white.

I do not want this to be my legacy.

The truth is, I don't think of those days very much, or very fondly. High school? Not a good time for me. I was tall. Tall as the teacher kind of tall. Sporting a short blonde, butchy 'do, because no one quite knew what to do with my super thick fro.

But, it really wasn't my lack of shoulder length straight hair, or cheerleader perkiness that made me not fit in here. I craved a life beyond partying in the woods. Where intelligence was valued over hockey scores. Where smart girls were celebrated, diversity, of all kinds, was accepted and there were way, way, way more than just one way of thinking about things.

So I became super quiet, to blend in. My goal was to not get my ass kicked (especially by those chicks smoking in the girls' bathroom), avoid getting taunted and bide my time until I could find my people. The only thing is, when you go this route, you can't quite turn it on and off at whim.

Finding my voice became a gradual process, one that I've worked on perfecting for over twenty years. My jobs helped. Working as a cashier at a busy cinema, then as a receptionist at an alternative newspaper, don't exactly lend themselves to silence. So did obtaining a college degree, where I was able to immerse myself in learning how to communicate. I am a writer after all.

And, then, there's this very reserved dude named Andre, who's played a huge role in my development. When I met my now husband, I really admired how he could talk to anyone. I've since realized that it's not that hard. I enjoy meeting new people and hearing their stories. And the more open I am, the more the universe keeps rewarding.

Having conversations with Maxwell and Lenny Kravitz. Yup, I've done that.

There is a downside however. Some folks won't appreciate your newfound voice. Quiet people are predictable, at least on the outside. And the sad thing about shyness is that sometimes it's all about maintaing control. Of you. More than likely, quiet is not a label that you put on yourself. You might be observant. Check. Thoughtful? Check. Analytical? Check. But shy? Maybe not.

In addition to my year book disclaimer, I also wanted to tell my story to provide inspiration to my newest web idol Brittany, a rockin' eighteen-year-old, who has not only decided to tackle her shyness head-on, but to document her efforts on her blog The Shyness Project:  http://theshynessproject.wordpress.com

You go girl!

I am also happy to report, Ms. Brittany, that I have been officially cured of my shyness for years. Done. Over. And if being interviewed on national tv doesn't speak to that, I'm not sure what does.

So, girlfriend, you keep on pushing. Don't psych yourself out with those labels. Just be you. Fabulous you.

And if you haven't gotten caught wearing a neon green striped sweater in public, you're already doing way better than me.