http://jmckelvie.com jmck Fri, 08 Feb 2013 00:15:49 +0000 http://jmckelvie.com en http://jmckelvie.com/the-over-commitments-of-a-committed-commitment-phobe http://jmckelvie.com/following/jmckelvie.com/the-over-commitments-of-a-committed-commitment-phobe Fri, 08 Feb 2013 00:15:49 +0000 jmck 4941518 Saying no is often the way to say yes. I am a self proclaimed relationship girl; it’s so bad that every attempt at a one night stand turns into a minimum three-month relationship. I’m the crazy-one-acting-like-a-girlfriend, while simultaneously trying not to be in a relationship. After years of wondering why dudes think I like them more than I really do, I finally realized that it’s because my base nature is ‘girlfriend.’ I guess this translates into nurturer (although I think that definition, when directed at me, is pushing it). I started to notice that I was a girlfriend to everyone. My boss: Do you want me to carry that?‘; my gays: Don’t forget you have that thing tomorrow afternoon; my friends: What can I do for you?‘; strangers: That dress looks great on you! You should get it!; ex-boyfriends: Did you call your mom? and potential future ex-boyfriends: Want me to make you some juice? These efforts to make others happy and comfortable come naturally to me and I don’t even realize ‘the girlfriend’ is happening until it’s too late. Either a boy freaks out cause he thinks I’m trying to marry him (ugh, please) or, more likely, I freak out because something more than I want to commit to is being committed to. This happens with all parties mentioned above, not just silly boys. Before I know it, I have booked myself solid for weeks. Weeks. The common and unfortunate answer to ‘When can we hang out?’ is usually ‘Next month’ As you can imagine, this does not go over well; the person asking is hurt that I don’t have time for them and I am furious, and quite honestly, a little depressed, that I don’t have time for myself. This all came to a head a few months ago, when life was bordering on too-much-to-handle. There was lots of crying, praying and my preferred unhealthy method of dealing with things: full on shutdown mode. I shut down in all aspects of my life and therefore all aspects of my life shut down on me. Some of my friends took this emotional disconnect very hard (as they should—it’s a shitty way to treat the ones you love—even when it’s done in self preservation). Needless to say, the fog lifted, I extracted myself from a few situations that were sucking all the happiness out of me and I learned (or more accurately, the lesson finally sunk in) a huge and life changing lesson. Since then my mantra has been: Sort of, but not really. Sometimes but not always. 100% 30% of the time. Yes but No. What I mean by all of that is this: If I’m not happy, how can I be happiness for anyone else? Impossible. My great revelation was realizing the importance, necessity and practicality of being consciously selfish. This concept has changed my life; I now know (and am comfortable with, because I know the negative ramifications of not doing this) that not giving everything of me all of the time to everyone is a good thing. It is a good thing to say No thanks; to be ok with leaving when you have lost interest. And in the end, even if I say nope, I say it with love. With love for the future ex, the best friend, the parent. But most importantly for myself. Saying no (for me) is saying yes to happiness. originally published here. Saying no is often the way to say yes. I am a self proclaimed relationship girl; it’s so bad that every attempt at a one night stand turns into a minimum... http://jmckelvie.com/how-to-capture-colorado-in-the-canyons-of-manhattan http://jmckelvie.com/following/jmckelvie.com/how-to-capture-colorado-in-the-canyons-of-manhattan Fri, 08 Feb 2013 00:15:48 +0000 jmck 4941500 <img src="http://payload132.cargocollective.com/1/2/91337/4941500/empty street_440.jpeg" width="440" height="588" width_o="1929" height_o="2580" src_o="http://payload132.cargocollective.com/1/2/91337/4941500/empty street_o.jpeg" data-mid="26444307" border="0" align="left"/> Jaywalking makes me feel like I am alone in the wilderness. Walking down the middle of any Manhattan street makes me feel like I am in the middle of nowhere. Especially on the avenues. Somehow, even when there are cars stopped at all the other corners and people everywhere but next to me, and I can cross the street at a diagonal in the middle of the road, everything seems right with the world. It is little moments like this that remind me, abstractly, of the expanses of the vast wilds I used to live in. I get caught up in big city life. The hustle and bustle. The excitement. I forget how my soul craves expanse. Uninterrupted openness. I forget what it was like walking out of my front door and into nature. And not a little bit of nature. Deep, real nature. I realize now, that although I appreciated every moment of it and knew how blessed I was to live in such a fantastic little bubble, I still took it for granted. Every now and then, I peel myself away from the city and am always instantly shocked by the relaxation that overcomes me once I am out in the country. I enter a deep, subconscious zone out. It starts right in the center of my atoms. Or, maybe more likely, it always lives there and only becomes active and felt when out in the vastness of nature. On rare days in the city, the feeling of undefined space, boundless and free, jolts through my body like a bolt of electricity. And it always happens as I am jaywalking across a street or sometimes, if I am very lucky, walking right down the middle. The buildings get sucked back and the sky opens. I feel like I can breathe, like I am alone. Like I am standing deep in an expansive green valley with fresh, pristine, Colorado wind whipping around me, the sun beating down on my tan face, fully unencumbered. And I smile a great big smile, sigh with loving memory and refreshed, hop back onto the sidewalk. originally published here. Jaywalking makes me feel like I am alone in the wilderness. Walking down the middle of any Manhattan street makes me feel like I am in the middle of nowhere.... http://jmckelvie.com/perspective http://jmckelvie.com/following/jmckelvie.com/perspective Fri, 08 Feb 2013 00:08:17 +0000 jmck 4941490 <img src="http://payload132.cargocollective.com/1/2/91337/4941490/tibet for ej_440.jpeg" width="440" height="329" width_o="960" height_o="717" src_o="http://payload132.cargocollective.com/1/2/91337/4941490/tibet for ej_o.jpeg" data-mid="26444214" border="0" align="left"/> One week makes all the difference. A little over a year ago, I spent a week on the Tibetan Plateau. Here is the email I wrote to friends and family after the experience: Friends, As you can see by the subject line, I’ve covered some major ground in the past week. It’s been a journey. Here are some of the hardships and highlights: No hot water, no potable water, no English, no heat, no tickets, no beds, no women allowed, no foreigners allowed, no money, no internet, no electricity, no computer, sick Tibetans, sick Jen, disgust, confusion, fury, too many sunrises from bus station parking lots, a lot of waiting, three long bus rides, three very long train rides, and never resting my head in the same place twice for 15 nights straight. On the other hand, there were Buddhas, monasteries, history, Tibetans, Tibet, mountains, snow, wandering, playing charades with monks, lots of smiles, amazing new friends, interesting food, fascinating culture, honesty, reverence, humility, laughter, clean air, blue skies, stars… Honestly I can’t really wrap my head or heart around what the last week was. It just was. But I can say (given it’s Thanksgiving and all of that) I am so thankful for toilets (I’m not making a joke), safe drinking water and high standards of hygiene. I am thankful for my health, ability, and privilege and that I am part of a culture that genuinely appreciates and encourages individuality, knowledge, and diversity. And I’m thankful for the experience(s) of the past week that bring my over-comfortable, over-convenient, wonderful existence into sharp focus and enable me to feel, understand, and accept how extravagantly blessed I am. ~ I often think of this experience and reread this email, trying to recreate the grateful, blessed, humble feeling I was consumed with throughout the week and after my return. I try to recreate in my mind what I went through that week and the small glimpse I was privileged to see of not only monastery life, but the day-to-day struggle of the Tibetans. When I returned to Shanghai after the trip, and met a friend for lunch, she was struck by my tranquility. She said I was different, peaceful, totally relaxed. I hadn’t felt like I had changed, but the more I reflected on the week, the more I realized how deeply I was touched by what I witnessed. The trip was almost unbearable. Everything, everything about it was uncomfortable. And I can honestly say that it was not really “fun.” It was amazing and important and special—a struggle, but also a gift. A total perspective-shifting, mind-altering, hugely important and necessary gift. I am still uncovering parts of this week that affected me, the experience still vibrates through my body creating little, new, perspective-shifting waves. originally posted here. One week makes all the difference. A little over a year ago, I spent a week on the Tibetan Plateau. Here is the email I wrote to friends and family after the... http://jmckelvie.com/the-upside-of-judgement http://jmckelvie.com/following/jmckelvie.com/the-upside-of-judgement Fri, 08 Feb 2013 00:04:23 +0000 jmck 4941486 People never cease to amaze me. I was walking home the other night with a huge basket of laundry when a hoodlum stepped out of the shadows. I immediately looked down and slightly quickened my step. He said, “Hey gorgeous, I know I’m not your type, but if I was, you know what I’d do?” Ugh, here we go, I thought. To my scoff he replied, “Girl, I would fold your laundry, you know it ain’t true what they say about us,” and all I could do was die with laughter right there in front of him. I’m not overly judgmental, but like everyone, I make snap judgements about my surroundings. This is human nature and important to our survival. We learn, assimilate information and form opinions; these opinions are judgements. Judging has gotten a bad rap, and it’s understandable because we use it to exclude, hurt and objectify. But, I have found there is a positive upside to all the opinions we throw at everything, all day, everyday. Other than the whole survival thing, having someone unintentionally prove us wrong right as we are judging, teaches us some major lessons. It blows our perspective out of the water and makes us reevaluate. It makes us take a step back and reconnect to ourselves and what we truly believe. We are given an opportunity to rethink, readjust and either consciously hold onto our judgement or let it change. Neither path is correct, but it is a beautiful and special gift to be given the opportunity to change. Reconnecting with our base beliefs and core values that may have been altered and molded during our day-to-day life is rewarding. But being able to connect being to being is even more special. The spark that fires between two people when a connection is made, regardless of how small or one-sided it may seem, is the glue that keeps everyone together. These little moments of readjustment, connection, spark, are our lifeblood, whether we realize it or not. When perspectives positively shift, even just for a moment, a whole new positive energy is added to the flow and it not only affects you, but everyone around you. So next time you are given the opportunity to grow from your judgement or help ease someone of theirs, rejoice in the freedom of the choice to release, shift and add a little more love and compassion to the air. originally published here. People never cease to amaze me. I was walking home the other night with a huge basket of laundry when a hoodlum stepped out of the shadows. I immediately looked... http://jmckelvie.com/a-little-bit-about-love http://jmckelvie.com/following/jmckelvie.com/a-little-bit-about-love Fri, 08 Feb 2013 00:03:25 +0000 jmck 4941475 It’s the little things. He looks old. But we are face to face snuggled into each other, every so often he kisses my neck. I can see pools of affection in his deep brown eyes and feel tenderness when his rough hand caresses my face. On the train home from work, one stranger gives another a commiserating glance after a long day. A smile is exchanged between passengers when they both notice something funny. At a café, everyone patiently waits in line as a new customer deciphers the menu. On the street I drop my wallet and three people stop to pick it up, warn me I dropped it and give it back. A homeless man says, “God bless you” to a stranger who doesn’t give money, but at least gives a smile. It’s easy not to notice, understand or appreciate the moments of our lives. It’s difficult to breathe, rearrange thought patterns, settle in, settle down, release and enjoy the ebb and flow. Your life, their life, my life, our collective lives. Why not savor? Why not enjoy? Why not say yes? Why not dig in? Why not love, care, feel? Give me one good reason to not unclench my fist and offer an open hand and heart. What more could anyone ask for than to be able to give love? The worst that will happen is that I will learn, and in the end, that’s really not so bad. originally featured here. It’s the little things. He looks old. But we are face to face snuggled into each other, every so often he kisses my neck. I can see pools of affection in his... http://jmckelvie.com/attachment http://jmckelvie.com/following/jmckelvie.com/attachment Thu, 07 Feb 2013 23:52:58 +0000 jmck 4941443 Or… Why do I have so much stuff? As I begin the process of selecting things to get rid of or store, I am astonished to find it nearly impossible to part with my few remaining belongings. ‘I don’t wear this hat, but I got it from a friend in Vail, and I love it…’ and ‘I don’t have time to read this book, but I really want to!’ Even though I am just putting things in storage, I still feel like I am somehow giving up parts of myself. I am totally shocked at my reluctance to let go of a pair of jeans and my electric tea kettle. I start to panic a little and begin to feel completely overwhelmed by the prospect of packing and moving my relatively few belongings. At the exact same moment that I am feeling overly attached to some face wash, I am also berating myself for being so spoiled. There are people with nothing, NOTHING! And here I am suffering a mini panic attack regarding which jackets to put into storage! I was (and am) ashamed of myself. How can someone who has always been so unattached to things suddenly become obsessively dependent? I took a step back and sat on my bed, surveying the gigantic mess I had made. I looked a my things, I thought about my things. And it occurred to me that for a year and a half, I have not had many personal belongings near me. I have one photo of my dad and I, my journal, some coral from a beach in Hong Kong and a blanket from Tibet. I have my phone to talk to my loved ones and my computer to keep me virtually connected. But I have been without the emotional grounding of special things for quite some time now. It sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. I miss my stuff. I miss that lino block series I made, and all the pictures my friends painted for me. I miss those awesome chairs I scoured the internet for and that cute tiny jar that a best friend gave me that holds cotton balls. I miss that silly sofa pillow I have, and that rusty railroad nail that I found on a hike way up in the Rockies. I miss coming home to my space with my things that have been carefully cultivated by me. But moving five times in a year and a half tends to force you to down size. At first I was all for it. I would exclaim ‘I don’t need/ want/ have to keep this, that and those!’ as I tossed, stored and donated my belongings. But after so much time in fairly major life transitions, the feeling of being rootless (that I have always felt was an integral part of my nature) is taking a toll. The past year and half has been filled to the brim with life lessons, fun, stress and everything else there is, all of which I expected. But this realization, of wanting things around me, comes as a surprise. Apparently, I am not as detached as I assumed I was. And maybe I am more emotionally invested in some of my things than I should be, or at least would like to admit. But I do know, at least, that once I get to open all those boxes stuffed full of things, I will be like a kid at Christmas. I will probably cry. And then I bet you a million dollars I’ll be shocked by how much stuff I saved and get rid of half of it! originally posted here. Or… Why do I have so much stuff? As I begin the process of selecting things to get rid of or store, I am astonished to find it nearly impossible to part with my... http://jmckelvie.com/and-then-there-was-one-none-no-one http://jmckelvie.com/following/jmckelvie.com/and-then-there-was-one-none-no-one Wed, 16 Jan 2013 22:14:49 +0000 jmck 4786072 <img src="http://payload124.cargocollective.com/1/2/91337/4786072/heads and hearts for web.jpeg" width="239" height="239" width_o="239" height_o="239" src_o="http://payload124.cargocollective.com/1/2/91337/4786072/heads and hearts for web_o.jpeg" data-mid="25551034" border="0" align="left"/> Snapshots of Moving On. Your beautiful knack for saying the most perfect thing has created lines in your voice that float through my head and remind me of my love for you. “Nobody can out guess the future.” ~ H. Murakami Yeah, I think we need to get some shit out in the open. Time to be real. Be honest. Let it all hang out and see where that gets us. ‘Cause I love you and this whole thing is/has been killing me and I think about you all the time and I think you’re for me and I’m for you, but I’m still pissed at you: you broke my heart, you made me cry…a lot… and I don’t want to tell you all of this, but I need to tell you all of this, for both of us it’s important that I tell you all of this… So I tell him most of this. “… all moments are contented. When they are not, it’s because the mind has made a mess of them.” ~ Sylvia Boorstein It’s over. I made it be over. I didn’t stop the freight train right in its tracks; I just jumped out, with my eyes wide open and my heart tightly closed. “Make sure the plane you’re on is bigger than your carry on baggage.” ~ Jay Z Bed, the whole bed. After every relationship of a certain level, where one gets used to, and comfortable with another’s presence, there is a period of mourning the warm body that used to be beside you. But once it all sinks in and you realize it was just a warm body, and that those are not at all hard to come by, you recognize that it is a pleasure, gift, privilege to have nothing next to you. “If someone is not good for your soul, give em love and let em go.” ~ Unknown Enduring the cold so you can appreciate the warmth… is that the start to the story or the end? originally published here. Snapshots of Moving On. Your beautiful knack for saying the most perfect thing has created lines in your voice that float through my head and remind me of my... http://jmckelvie.com/living-to-the-beat-of-my-heart http://jmckelvie.com/following/jmckelvie.com/living-to-the-beat-of-my-heart Wed, 16 Jan 2013 22:11:27 +0000 jmck 4786057 <img src="http://payload124.cargocollective.com/1/2/91337/4786057/cloud heart_440.jpeg" width="440" height="440" width_o="1435" height_o="1435" src_o="http://payload124.cargocollective.com/1/2/91337/4786057/cloud heart_o.jpeg" data-mid="25550976" border="0" align="left"/> A Poem About Priorities I’ve known forever that my place is not sitting. Nor in monotony or routine. Not in the expected steps of school, career, relationship, family. My place is not linear or clear. Not in stress, not in overreaction, not in seriousness. I have lived, mostly happily in between society’s norm and my own. I have moved when I grew tired of a place. Have loved when I wanted to love, and not when I did not. I have delved deep into interests and skimmed over others. I have grown and stretched and reached. I have been honest, true, genuine. And I have been the opposite. I have traveled alone and with my soul mates; I have climbed mountains and forged rivers, galloped and jumped and rode bareback with abandon. I have hurt and been hurt. I have felt my heart break, felt it drain of blood. I have spent hours, days, weeks where I could not smile. And I have lived the opposite. I have sung and sped and sobbed and screamed. And I have done all of this with the intention to forge a life that fits my heart. originally published here. A Poem About Priorities I’ve known forever that my place is not sitting. Nor in monotony or routine. Not in the expected steps of school, career,... http://jmckelvie.com/the-lost-art-of-spoken-word http://jmckelvie.com/following/jmckelvie.com/the-lost-art-of-spoken-word Wed, 16 Jan 2013 22:09:00 +0000 jmck 4786042 <img src="http://payload124.cargocollective.com/1/2/91337/4786042/image copy.jpg" width="430" height="576" width_o="430" height_o="576" src_o="http://payload124.cargocollective.com/1/2/91337/4786042/image copy_o.jpg" data-mid="25550866" border="0" align="left"/> Making Words Sound like Music: Watching his body move with the ebb and flow of his words I am reminded of the power of spoken language. Visions of old storytellers weaving cultural histories like magic protective cloaks for tribes and neighborhoods dance across my eyes. I can hear the oral histories taking root and growing stronger with each rendition told around a fire, kitchen table, while being rocked to sleep. This kind of spoken word used to be a prized possession, an actual profession. These floating syllables held power with truth and exaggeration; they were the wise professor, a teacher who gripped you with emphasis, lyricality, pattern and prose. For years, spoken tradition was the space one entered for guidance, advice and wisdom. For connections to the past through historic re-tellings. Morals and ethics woven specifically for the listener to journey with. We have shifted with the onslaught of books, computers and phones from a culture of active talking to a culture of passive talking. Storytelling has lost its verbal flair. Our bodies no longer pulse with the formation of words birthed from the mists of our brains and coursing through our veins to be pushed from our mouths uncontrollably. It takes passion and guts to publicly display your words and even more gumption to stand in front of others and let the sounds fly, let your movements be consumed by the noise and the pause. Allowing others to feel the wind of your words, releasing ownership and giving freedom to the syllables, so they become our words and we all pulse under their charm, feeling the deepness of each rhyme, pause and release. originally published, with video links, here. Making Words Sound like Music: Watching his body move with the ebb and flow of his words I am reminded of the power of spoken language. Visions of old... http://jmckelvie.com/silence-is-golden http://jmckelvie.com/following/jmckelvie.com/silence-is-golden Wed, 16 Jan 2013 21:54:34 +0000 jmck 4785962 <img src="http://payload124.cargocollective.com/1/2/91337/4785962/subway tunnel for web.jpeg" width="440" height="329" width_o="960" height_o="717" src_o="http://payload124.cargocollective.com/1/2/91337/4785962/subway tunnel for web_o.jpeg" data-mid="25550361" border="0" align="left"/> But so is noise. Traveling alone for the first time, to a country where I literally could only say “hello,” quickly brought up everything I had ever intentionally and unintentionally not considered, thought about, pondered, healed from, forgiven, laughed at, cried for, was hurt by, apologized for… It forced me to be uncomfortable. To listen to my crazy thoughts, recognize them as crazy, and accept them… as crazy. To not speak for days in a row, while surrounded by noise, is an enlightening thing. Once the tide of silent acceptance rolls over you, you are peaceful, intact, whole, grounded, interconnected. But totally, happily, alone. After a few days you learn to love the silence; it becomes your security blanket. Someone speaking your language seems rude and intrusive. Don’t they know you’re in deep, figuring all your shit out?! The indistinguishable clamor of a foreign tongue becomes your peace, your white noise. Your meditation. The silence forced upon me was one of the most important lessons of my life, and every now and then I yearn to be in a place where everything is strange and nothing makes sense and I can settle into being completely uncomfortably comfortable. originally written for and featured here. But so is noise. Traveling alone for the first time, to a country where I literally could only say “hello,” quickly brought up everything I had ever...