The End-Stonia.

Where am I? Where have I been? Where am I going? These questions keep smacking me in the face when I look up, open my eyes, and shake my head in total disbelief that I am where I am…and where I’ve been is in the past.

I was in Estonia 3 weeks ago. I was crying my not-so-tiny heart out on my friend’s shoulders in Latvia on August 23^rd. I was in Dallas with my mom, my family, and friends not even 2 weeks ago. And here I am, September 15^th, a week and half into living in New York, one week of work under my belt, and gearing up to leave for Washington D.C. for my first work-related trip tomorrow.

Where am I?

At a Starbucks in the Upper West Side.

But really: In some sort of whirlwind. That’s’ for sure. The thing is… I know who I am and what I’m doing more than ever…those two align seamlessly. And yet, the people surrounding me make it all feel like home. So when I look up at the tiny Spanish bodegas on my street corner in Brooklyn, or hear Russian whiz past me as I stroll through Central Park…it just all feels right. Like it was meant to be. Or rather, I made it be.

And I’ve gathered that I am where I am – not because of where I’ve been, but what I’ve done with where I’ve been, what I’ve seen, what I’ve felt.

I refuse to speak of Estonia in the past-tense, I’m not quite ready to let Estonia go back there. I’m holding onto it, trying to keep the memories active and buzzing – the people within arms-length. Or Skype-reach. I can’t, yet, dig deep into the year and all that it has meant to me – I want to sum it up and say “it’s meant everything”, but it filled certain holes, specific places that needed filling. Places that have made me more me. I am more me.

I feel good.

My heart literally tightens at the thought of the beautiful, giving, and fantastically special people in the Baltics. Thinking of them can turn a 45-minute subway ride into 5-minutes. And yes, hearing Russian in public spaces could not give me more joy than a CLIF bar and a vanilla latte. That’s big joy.

Getting messages from my kids saying, “We miss you”, “We love you”, “Our meeting was not the same without you” – Yeah, that kills me. These kids who are across the ocean, touching Russia, a ferry-ride from Finland, these kids think of me? They have to know how much I think of them – holding back my love for them was never an issue.

And these thoughts, these images hit me differently. Most times I’m sad knowing they’re so far away…other times, I’m just so happy and grateful we keep in touch with one another. And that I was able to experience the magical year I wanted so badly – so badly. And I got it. I made it mine, and here I am.

At a Starbucks in the Upper West Side.

One week of work under my belt. Not just any ordinary week of work; meaningful work. Work that intertwines with what I believe in right now, and what I wish to see in the world – with people who care, with people who are on the exact same page as me. That makes me feel good.

I’m on some sort of cloud. Not sure if it’s cloud-nine; but it’s a cloud a little higher than the Brooklyn bridge – I can see Estonia, I can see Brooklyn, I can see Manhattan. Dallas, you’re there too. My co-worker shared a “Jewish saying”, that sometimes your head can be where you are, but your soul might be slowly trailing behind, taking its’ time to catch up with your body. I believe that. It’s happening. Currently. Like, right now.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

My soul is taking its’ time, and I’m not going to push it to go any faster.

Oh, but I have so many good stories of my first week in Brooklyn and Manhattan! I think, what I’ll do, is create another blog by the name of…

www.brookjenyc.wordpress.com

Where I start a fresh chapter/page/blog roll, accounting my stories of living in a place that is unlike any other place I’ve lived in – I’m talking way more culture shock than Kansas AND Estonia combined. This should be good. This should be interesting.

 Thank you SO much for following me on JENSTONIA the past year! Your readership, commentary, and presence has meant so much to me – and it will continue to as I navigate my next journey in Brooklyn and Manhattan.

Love to all,

Jenstonia – forever Jenstonia

On Laughter, Fear, and Hope

I fell asleep with my head buried underneath the hotel covers; before I drifted away, I put music into my ears and wiggled the same wiggle I always wiggle. When my limbs settled and my breathing slowed, I confidently closed my eyes.

 

I opened them back up. Calm. I breathed a deep breath. Slow and clear.

I thought, “I’m not worried about a thing”.

Ah ah ah, Jen, don’t question it. Don’t dig.

I felt safe, comfortable, loved, and satiated emotionally, mentally, and physically.

“Remember this feeling”, and off I went.

[30 minutes later]

“HAHAHA”

I woke up. Wait, did I just wake myself up laughing? Seriously?

Happiness? Is that you? I’ll take it.

 

From the outside looking in: It’s -11 degrees Celsius, I’m from Texas, and everyone speaks Russian.

On the inside: I’ve never felt warmer or more connected to the human spirit.

 I spent the weekend at “Bereshit”, a seminar in its’ second year for 18+ year olds in Estonia and Latvia. Lecturers came from universities in Israel, and we celebrated Shabbat together by diving into Jewish history and working together to connect with our past. Topics of Hanukkah, Kabalah, miracles, and the creation of the world directed our focus over the weekend. While I revel in time dedicated to group learning and education, I know the true blessing lied in the fact that we were able to be together as one people. The hidden string that bound us all together was not something to ignore. In a country that was literally ‘juden frei’ (free of Jews) in 1941, this was, yet again, another miracle of the Jewish people. Baruch Hashem.

It’s been 2 months and some change since I set foot in Estonia, and with every passing week comes more laughter, more conversation, and more understanding.

Okay maybe add a little more laughter to that list.

Seriously, I’m laughing all the time. To the point to where I can’t take a sip of my tea or coffee because I know someone will say something funny and I’ll end up giving everyone a caffeine shower. I have to turn around, face the corner, and take a sip. Don’t you feel bad for me?

All I can say after moments like these is, “Cheesus, I love you guys”. I shake my head into a perplexed smile.

How could I have lived 22 (almost 23) years without these people?

How could I have lived 22 (almost 23) years without persimmon?

More importantly, these people.

With this love comes a deep sense of shared compassion and responsibility for the entire Baltic community.

“It scares me”, I reveal to friends who are also leaders of the Estonian Jewish community.

“What do you mean it scares you?”

I clench my hands and move them to my heart; I feel my eyebrows scrunching closer into concerned, future mommy face.

My words are far from fluid.

“The size; the size of the community scares me. The entire Jewish Estonia functions solely from Tallinn. It functions by very specific people who do very specific jobs. There are 2,000 Jews and 50% of them are elderly”. With a little math and my fear and worry aside, all I can conclude is that every single generation, every single person counts.

And Judaism, yet alone religion, only began to be “okay” and “not evil” 20 years ago.

And 50 years before that there wasn’t a single Jew. Killed or deported.

And the street I live on used to be called “Hitler Maantee (highway)”; and the Rabbi of Tallinn was shot a few steps away.

To think I walk the same streets my people walked on and the Nazi’s shot from. It’s nauseating.

I’m angry and disgusted just writing these words, but it’s real and you can’t just detach from your past.

But then you walk into the building that exists solely for the Jewish community, and you feel a sense of hope. The fear vanishes.

And then you walk into a room where there’s a professor from Israel speaking English into a microphone (this is rare), a translator in another room translating the English into Russian directly into individual headsets, and I’m sitting there… as another member of the community. Benefiting more than words can say.

To accepting miracles and keeping the faith in a world full of empiricism, I say spasibah, todah rabah, and thank you.

Jenstonia – Ya penimayo Russki choot choot

granny smith to honey crisp

I want you to draw a Venn diagram.

I want you to compare and contrast yourself to the person you last communicated with.

Next, I want you to draw another Venn diagram.

I want you to compare and contrast the city you live in now to the city you grew up in.

Finally, draw another Venn diagram and put a big X through it.

Quit comparing, quit contrasting. Seriously, screw it.

K now listen “Nothing from Nothing” by Billy Preston just because it might make you feel like dancing.

 

While thorough analysis is a highly sought-after skill, I’ve found that when we compare and contrast our lives, it may keep us from giving our new experiences (people, places, things) a real chance.

Can’t you hear it? Your future experiences on hand and knee, begging you to “take a chance on me, take a chance on me”? Listen carefully.

People. We’re all different, yeah? And it’s a natural human tendency to compare and differentiate oneself from others. How are you different? Why should I hire you and not the last dude who walked through the door?

It’s also natural to high-five, say “OMGsh”, and jump around and squeal when you find out you have the same favorite color as a new acquaintance.  That’s perfectly lovely, but it’s the effort put towards differentiating and potentially isolating oneself from others that may get us into some trouble.

I used to believe I had a way of thinking about the world that was unique to others. So unique there was no way anybody had ever had the same thoughts as me; all these books in the library? Psh. No way they mention the things that go on in my head. No way have people felt what I felt. I am different. I am me.

Oh, young Jen, this isn’t so. 

Get off that high horse and quit doubting people.

I found that if I opened myself up to new people, remain humble and not impulsively raise myself above or below them, maybe I’ll do more jumping and squealing upon common thinking.

I’ve personified this thought with basic human emotions, so I can not only understand it, but feel it: it’s not fair to your new experiences if your past experiences are constantly lingering around. In a way, you’re not respecting the possibilities of new people, new places, new things (to be ambiguous).

 And yourself. Ohhhhhhh, you.

• You are not your 6-year old self.
• You will not fit into the same pants nor will you be able to relive the same memories.
• Camp one summer will be different the next summer (a tough, tough first world problem I had to learn).
• Your hair will get bigger with age, so quit the nostalgia trips of the tamed-hair years.
• Your first relationship will be different than the next, and the next, and the next after that. You don’t go into one and blend them together, isolate them, compare them, and spit them back out and decide you’re in the one you’re in because of x, y, and z. You don’t go into one because you lacked or had too much of something from the previous one. This isn’t fair to the current and futures ones.

And new places:

Yes it’s true that Tallinn, Estonia is not Lawrence, Kansas or Dallas, Texas. I’m glad it’s not. You think I would let the -20 degree weather along with hanging death icicles keep me from letting Tallinn shine in its’ own right? That wouldn’t be fair to Tallinn. (see, personifying?)

You think I would travel to Helsinki and walk around the half-cobbled streets and keep thinking Tallinn’s cobbles are better? No. Again, not fair.

World, I don’t care if you have a Starbucks or McDonald’s or Chipotle (well, maybe) or free public toilets. I will not think less of you don’t have my comforts from home. I intend to make new comforts, and when I get too comfortable with those comforts, I intend to make more comforts.

Quit the venn diagrams

Quit comparing yourself to people

Quit comparing people to people

Places to places

Apples to apples

Post-preach update:

I’m really loving work. The teens could not be more special. Seriously.

The first snow fell on Friday! Which obviously means it was time for my first frozen yogurt.

I took my new friends to Texas Bar & Cantina. The Russian philologists. I was crying laughing around these people to the point we had to get paper and pen to write down every funny. When I lifted up my cactus-for-a-stem margarita glass to cheers, I said “chairs” and my Russian tutor said “tables”. Oh, puns do exist across cultures.

And last night I hosted my first work-related gathering. My oven was also used for the first time. We (okay, they) made pizza and we sipped on Ukrainian prosecco. It was such a joy to see a handful of new friends comfortable and happy in my apartment.

We made moves to Old Town by sliding across the icy cobble-stoned streets; as a precautionary justification to any sudden face-planting, I whispered, “I’m from Texas, I’m from Texas”.

After a few hours of dancing I was basically gliding through the streets like a professional Russian ice-skater. I also had a cold water bottle in my hand. If that’s not adapting I don’t know what is…

OKAY, fine, I’ve also been sleeping in my wool socks and fleece jacket 🙂

Chairs and tables,

Jenstonia – so you can’t really jog on ice…

22 going on 22

I used to be a lot of things.

I used to be angry, I used to be quiet. I was tough, over-determined, and yearned to be perfect. At 4, I was a competitive soccer coach’s dream player, but I was my own worst enemy. That lasted another 14 years.

I was “13 going on 30”, so they used to say. An old soul, a wise owl, whatever metaphor floats your ferry. Truth be told, I was confused as hell.

I was mad at the world and didn’t understand destructive human behaviors and unfiltered speech. Of course I wasn’t a toddler saying “I don’t understand destructive human behavior”, but my soul quivered at the sight or sound of anything “evil”. The concept of “karma” was innate and I constantly thought about the world outside of Jen.

What I didn’t understand was that my thoughts and behaviors were, in fact, self-destructive. I became what I disliked the most.

Self-aware to a fault. Determined to a fault. Thought-provoking to a fault. Deep to a fault.

At 12 I had 30 year-olds coming to me with their relationship problems; At 13 I had peers asking me to wake them up at 6am so they could join me on a morning run and become overly health-conscious like I was. I got along better with adults than with kids my age. Teachers were my best friends and in effect, my pre-mature maturity provided me with more opportunities and responsibilities than “normal”.

I was. I was. I was.

I used to be a lot of things.

At 18, I made a conscious decision to stop trying to figure out life.

Quit analyzing so much, quit finding faults, quit fixing, quit searching, quit finding meaning.  

Start enjoying.

So I started enjoying.

Yep, that easy. No thinking, just doing.

My king-of-the-party brother definitely helped pave the way along with a boyfriend who was warm, open, spontaneous and the least “deliberate” person I know.

Now I choose to recognize constructive human behaviors and filter unfiltered speech. I know the world and people within it can’t be perfect and say the right things at the right time, but I can choose how it affects me.

I choose not to be mad at the world. I choose to embrace the good and say “nice try” to the bad. I’ve had enough practice to turn the bad into good to where finding good has become a natural reflex. I trained my brain at 18 and made a conscious change. So when people praise my positive attitude and my view on day-to-day life, not only is it a major compliment on the person I’ve BECOME, but it’s a testament to what we all can do.

This isn’t a post to pat who I’ve become on the back; it’s a post to show that my previous posts aren’t a crock of shit. I’m not embellishing my experiences to make you feel good about my adventures; I’m showing you the world inside my head that I took time to build.

 

I used to be a lot of things, but I’ve always been a word-person.

I believe in the power of words. I love the power of words. I adore the power of words. I respect the power of words. 99% of the time, I am careful, deliberate and sensitive with the words that come out of my mouth. I know saying something can make someone’s day or break someone’s day. Not saying something has the same power. What is said can never be unsaid.

I learned that when I think something negative and utter something negative, it essentially effects how I feel… negatively. The more I do it, the more it becomes habit. The more it becomes a part of everyday life, the less likely I am to skip around in a field of flowers and sing about how beautiful the world is. In fact, the image of happiness becomes aversive.

So I chose to think something positive, utter something positive, feel good, and make that a habit. In effect, that image of bumming around and being a cynic about the world becomes aversive.

And now, I am 22 going on 22. Comfortable with my age, comfortable with the world. I feel I’m right where I need to be, doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing.

“Life is too important to be taken seriously” a bundle of words very near and dear to my heart and what I’ll use to highlight the past few days:

Life is too important to be taken seriously, so I went to Helsinki for the day yesterday. Booked the tickets online at 10pm the night before and made the ferry 2-minutes before the gates closed.

Life is too important to be taken seriously, so I stayed up until 7am on Friday and Saturday to sing Russian karaoke and dance to Russian power ballads from the 60’s.

Life is too important to be taken seriously, so I sat in seminars at  Jahad, a weekend convention bringing together 500 Estonian Jews, and listened to intellectual discussions in Russian and had no idea what was going on.

Life is too important to be taken seriously, so I watch 90s v 80s music on vh1 instead of the debate on CNN.

I’ll close with this awesome conversation I had with my supervisor on the way to Parnu, where the convention was:

• A: “Jen, did you bring your bathing suit?”
• B: “No, it’s like winter outside”
• A: “They have spa, you can wear mine”
• B: “Uhh, no I can’t”
• A: “Yes, you can, it’s like gummy”

Dance the night away,

Jenstonia – it’s supposed to snow on Friday.

privet [hello] to new faces, new friends

Ah, my first week in Tallinn has come to a close and the second is just beginning. An incredibly touching week, indeed, but tonight I’m forgoing the words and showing you through blueberry eyes [and a Canon PowerShot] – please enjoy!

potselui [kisses], Jenstonia

P.S. Play my song of the week below if you want to hug the photo’s with some tunes.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.