A tape recorder and a dream....

#7 - Interview one of my favorite bands

As previously stated, I have an undying passion for writing, especially about music! And when I figured that out, I couldn't help but let myself be consumed by it. I wanted to be that girl who always got her story, especially while getting the opportunity to talk to musicians who have changed my life.

In college, I would have easily said my only favorite non-classic rock band was Jupiter Sunrise. They were sweet, charismatic & helped me through many different stages of my young adult life. I would not have been the same without them. I may have never gotten the chance to interview and write an article about them, but some of the conversations I managed to partake in with those band members will always hold a special place in my heart.

Fast forward to now, while Jupiter Sunrise may still be on that list, other bands have taken up residence with them. Now I'm sure most people would wonder why I couldn't be satisfied with just meeting and getting an autograph and/or picture with my faves....sometimes it's just not enough. By nature, I'm curious to know more about everything. For example, I remember getting so engrossed in the movie Stigmata that I started researching and learning everything I could about the strange phenomena. Eventually I lose interest in the topic (but retain the info), but with music....it's almost like an addiction. I can never get enough of it. 

I'm hoping with the new year (and my determination to keep my resolutions), that I will finally reach up for my dream and grab hold of it. My current goal is for Bonnie Dune. I know there have been in-depth interviews already done, but I'm not satisfied. I want to touch that goal for myself. I'm itching to make sure that in my journey to become a music journalist, I accomplish personal goals. Because while I could write about anyone or anything, isn't it more rewarding when you reach for something that you want? 

~Jenn

Lights....Camera....Travel Channel?

#6 - Try something you know nothing about

About two months after my ex had ended our relationship, you could say that I was going through quite the transitional phase. I tried to busy myself with work, friends, partying, writing, photography, looking into grad school, and anything and everything to keep my mind off of the pain I was still feeling. It didn't matter what I tried, because it seemed as though no matter how busy I was, reality set back in and the tears were not that far behind.

Celebrating my 24th birthday, I decided it was time for a change. I was tired of allowing this toxic relationship take over my life; I needed to try a new project, something for myself. Before, I had just done things for everyone else. Be good with the family. Be there for my ex. Do the best job I could do with my job.... 

.....but what about me? 

I was so consumed with the idea of immersing myself in other people's stories that I forgot how to write my own. What were my interests? My likes? My hobbies? And when I turned 24, I decided that it was time to find that something that I needed. 

One day, while perusing one of my favorite websites, The Travel Channel website, I came across a workshop to learn more about travel film-making. I had many friends in college who were Theatre & Media majors, who knew how to create beautiful masterpieces and direct amazing plays. And then there was me.....who knew nothing about sound studios and video-editing. It was perfect! I needed a release and I didn't care about the repercussions or consequences. This was my way of coping and moving forward.

That's not to say I wasn't met with opposition. My boss at the time fought me tooth and nail about taking the time off for it. (I won in the end.) My ex felt he should add in his two cents and tell me that he didn't understand why I was taking a class about something I knew nothing about. (I reminded him that I didn't need his approval anymore, we were done.) My friends were excited and slightly apprehensive, but I knew what I wanted to do: I needed to take that class.

After sending in my contact information (and a rather meaty deposit), I was nothing short of excited for learning more about how the Travel Channel wrote and filmed their many show segments. Michael Rosenblum, an extremely kind (and talented) film-maker, was heading the class with his beautiful wife, Lisa, and various assistants, Tim, Kelly, and Graham. 

For the next four days, my life was consumed with 10-hour classes consisting of finding video content, consent forms, sound editing, and writing segment dialogue....as a journalism major, I had never been at such a loss for material! True, I did excel at print media, but a video camera changed the game. I needed to find pieces that were interesting, visually and aurally. 

They had us out and about in Manhattan, locating interesting those interesting stories and shooting the video content for our segment projects. One day I was in a warm bakery preparing for Valentine's Day, the next freezing my ass off in Union Square to talk to a wine-maker. Having to search for that "story" scared and exhilarated me in a way that I hadn't felt in years. Frankly, it equated to the same feeling I got in college when I figured out what article I wanted to write for my journalism class. (Later, when I talked to Matt about the class, he was so proud that I was trying out something that brought me back to my passion.)

During that time in class, I also had the chance to make a few new friends. While I can't remember everyone's name, I do remember when I first met Davina. A journalism graduate of UNC- Chapel Hill, we clicked the moment we had the chance to talk. In fact, the day we finished our little "boot camp," me, Davina, Kristie, Jason, Graham, and a handful of others all wandered over to ESPN Zone for some drinks and some unwinding. Davina and I shared more than just drinks and photos that night, we started what I believe to be a pretty awesome friendship. Every now and then, we check in with each other and catch up on life. I'm grateful that I learned about more than just film-making in those four days: I actually got the chance to make friends and create memories for myself.

I may not use those film-making skills often, but I have no regrets. I realized that sometimes people need to do things that may not make sense to anyone but them. I found myself in that class, found the need to continue learning & growing on my own, without others to advise me.  

~Jenn

"Good things happen when you meet strangers" - Yo Yo Ma

#5 - Befriend a stranger

Now, I know our families always say "Don't talk to strangers" when we're little kids. In fact, I'll guarantee every kid has received the same speech in one way or another. But many who know me understand that I tend to march to the beat of my own drum. I'm not a person who conforms easily, if at all. Quite the opposite, actually.

You see, for me, being a social butterfly comes kinda naturally. I know a few people would consider me shy or reserved, but when opportunity knocks for a chance encounter....the world is in my favor.

I've met all different walks of life in the most random places. From the grocery store checkout counter, to the train to & from NYC, even on an airplane; yet if I had to pick the most interesting person I have befriended, it would have to be Carlos, an NJIT student (now graduate.) At first, we would just see each other on the platform at Linden Train Station, waiting for the morning train to our respective places. It wasn't until at least a couple of months in that we had our first exchange of hellos and soon after that, making sure to sit with one another on the train in order to continue our conversation from the platform.

While I never really talked about Carlos with anyone, it was nice to have an outside perspective from my everyday norm. On the days I would show up with red eyes from yet another fight with my ex, Carlos would sit there and remind me how wonderful I was to talk to and that whatever happened, life would work out in my favor. And on the happier days, we would talk about how we were doing with our work and with life. 

2005-2006 had come and gone with Carlos along for the ride, at least to Newark Penn. Although it was only a matter of time that Carlos would graduate and I would find a job outside of the city; our brief companionship on the train was something that looking back now,  probably one of the few things to keep me sane in such a crazy time of my life.

I mean, I was getting engaged (although not to the right person), in my first job right out of college, moving out of my parent's house, having roommate issues, friend issues, family issues, pressure of being something I wasn't, and nothing was completely stable. Having at least someone outside of all of those circles kept me balanced, and I realized that chance encounters are what aid you in those times of need, the unbiased opinion. The one to help me see through all of the stress and know that if I didn't focus on myself a little bit, I would crack. 

I still check up on Carlos via FB every once in a while, even though it is highly unlikely with our current paths in life that we will ever meet again. But who knows? Maybe a few years down the line, we may meet again and just like old friends, catch up on our lives to the next destination in our journey. 

~Jenn

You take away the breath I was keeping for sunrise....

#4 - Watch the sunrise

There has always been something about a sunrise that intrigues me. Maybe it's the various hues of color that occur as the sun peeks out of the horizon. Possibly the thought of seeing a natural occurrence of nature happen before my eyes. Or maybe sunrises are just cooler than sunsets. I'm not sure, but what I do know is that I had two instances in my life where I was able to watch the sunrise. And both were meaningful in different ways.

The first time I saw the sunrise, I was 18 years old. After my first year at college, I was home for the summer and offered to be my friend Joe's date to his senior prom. On top of looking absolutely hot and fierce, we were also spending the weekend down in Wildwood after the prom....it was the only time I went down the shore after any prom, including my own. The drive down was fun, in a car full of strangers (to me) and my best friend at the time. 

When we reached the motel and checked in, Joe, his friend Lauren, and myself were the only three left awake. With sunrise only minutes away, we decided to walk to the boardwalk and start off the weekend on a fun note. In our comfiest sweats and hoodies, the three of us strolled down the boardwalk, watching the hues of the sky change with every step. That moment was breath-taking, everything that I had hoped it would be. A moment shared with some good friends and sweet memories. That sunrise symbolized so much to me at the time: the end of my first year of college, a beginning to the rest of my life. 

Roughly 6 1/2 years later, at 25 years old, I experienced my second sunrise. On the way home from one of Matt's shows, I was driving over the Manasquan River Bridge at the wee hours of the morning. The gig the night before had been in White Plains, NY, which meant a late start (midnight), going into the wee hours of the morning (3:30 am). Matt was asleep next to me, my large cup of coffee nestled right in the cup holder. And there it was, as I crossed the bridge, those pastel hues of dawn. You know, I couldn't remember what song was on the radio or what I wore, but in that instant....I felt so strongly about seeing that sunrise and everything it symbolized to me.

From that first sunrise to the second one, so much had changed in my life. From college, to boys, to career choices, even my friends, everything was so different from what I thought my life would be. Yet it didn't matter, the sun would always come out for another day. There would always be another chance to make my life all that I dreamed of. That my life was not close to over, but merely beginning what I consider "the best part." Just that realization moved me to such tears....and I smiled, knowing wherever my story took me, the possibilities would be endless.

There will be other sunrises, I'm sure of this. And I'm also sure that when I see it, my life will be in a much different place than it was the time before. I can't wait to see what the next one brings. 

~Jenn

It takes no time to fall in love, but it takes you years to know what love is....

#3 - Learn the meaning of true love

The first time I fell in love, I was 19 years old. And I can still remember the night that my ex and I had told each other for the first time that we loved one another. It was pretty special to me, certainly a memory that even though it is now long over, I can look upon fondly with no regrets.

But after four years, even though we loved each other, that love just wasn't enough anymore. It broke my heart to know that after such a long time together, the person that was my whole world told me that they didn't see me the way I saw them. For any person who has been in this position, I'm sorry. Because frankly, being heartbroken feels like death. No matter what you try to do, no amount of tears or talking it out can ease the pain. There's a hole in your heart where that person used to be. Even thinking about those memories now makes me tear up, but I digress.

It wasn't until I started dating Matt that I truly understood the meaning of love. At first, it was in the simplest of things. Whether it be he cooked me my favorite meal or shared a song he was learning for the band, I was excited to learn as much about him as I could. We did everyday things like food shopping, curl up in bed and sharing stories about our life, have sing-a-longs and harmonize with one another, even talk on the phone every night before going to bed. I couldn't believe I was finally moving on, finding that peace and happiness I had  needed to find. I started smiling again, I couldn't write fast enough, and the pieces of myself that I had hidden away for so long re-appeared....met with acceptance and appreciation.

I had to share all of this with you, the reader, in order to share the next part. (Just know that this is very hard for me to share, but in order to get to the good parts, we all need to deal with the bad parts.) It was inevitable that in any relationship that ends, there needs to be closure. Mine came in May of 2008. Kyle had asked me to drop off one of his most treasured pieces of Green Day memorabilia that he had left at my apartment. He was going to be at the airport near my house, so he wanted me to meet him there and give him his stuff. I decided that instead of just dropping it off and leaving, it was only right that after four years together, I gave that part of my life a proper farewell. (It truly was a farewell, as my ex was leaving to meet up with a girl who would later become his wife.) 

The meeting felt slightly surreal to me, I mean, this was it. There would be no need for anymore communication, unless on mutual friendly acquaintance terms, no more love, no more future together. We met up, I gave him his things, we shared a few words, and I hugged him goodbye and wished him luck. It was hard, but I did it. 

With every step I took away from Kyle, the reality of goodbye set in and by the time I got to my car, I sobbed harder than I ever had in my life. Letting go was supposed to be easy, it wasn't supposed to hurt like this. I felt numb inside and no matter how hard I tried, I became consumed in it. Luckily, I had friends who came to my rescue in such a time of need. Thanks to my best friend Vicki, I spent what would've been a depressing night filled with Kleenex and wine with her and her now-ex, watching DVDs, getting drunk and being in the company of people who cared about me. 

That morning after was when I finally got to talk to Matt. He was glad I had not been alone the night before, but also sad that he couldn't be there for me. We made plans for me to come over later on in the day and I would stay over, ensuring that I wasn't going to go through the pain by myself. Hours later, as I pulled up in front of his place and walked to the door, Matt was right there, ready to greet me. I could barely put my bags down before he enveloped me in the biggest hug, whispering sweet words as I tried to keep myself together after hours and hours of crying my eyes out. Most men would run away from a woman dealing with an ex, Matt just hugged me and told me I was home now, that this is where I would be safe. He let me cry in his arms that night, wiping my tears away. He let me talk about my feelings, just listening and only sharing advice when the moment seemed appropriate. He kissed me and loved me, despite my situation, my fears, my insecurities, and my shortcomings. 

Let me tell you, when you find someone who can love you, especially when you are crying over your ex, it's special. I understood that night what it meant to have someone truly love me. Of course, family and friends will always love you, but to have someone willing to give you their all, even as you take your time giving them yours, it means more. To be with a person who doesn't expect you to change (unless you want to) and to only be who you are, because that's the you that they love the most. To not be afraid to tell you how much they love you as many times as they feel like it....even after the 500th time that day. 

So at 19 years old, I fell in love for the first time. But it wasn't until I was 24 that I knew what love truly meant. It's something more than your first love....it's everything. 

~Jenn

Like a Rolling Stone....Writer

#2 - Write for Rolling Stone Magazine

I can still remember the first time I read an issue of Rolling Stone Magazine that my brother had bought. It had Howard Stern on the front cover and the way that the magazine was over-sized compared to Seventeen or Spin fascinated me. Stealing away to my room with the issue nestled against my chest, I spent that afternoon reading the issue cover to cover, almost trying to memorize every story. While I may have been only ten and most of the articles covered in RS went a little over my head at the time, I knew I was in love. It would take me another six or seven years to realize that this was my real calling in life....writing.

In my sophomore year of college, I discovered my love for music journalism. I had needed to write an article for my journalism class, just to appease the professor (who I was sure hated me) at the time. While talking to my friend Colleen, she had suggested I interview her bf's band, Ash Return. They were working hard on putting together shows and were going to hit the US on a mini-tour. Accepting her idea, I got hard to work on interviewing as many band members as possible and wrote what I still consider one of the biggest life-changing pieces of my college experience. Pouring through interviews on my little tape recorder and online chat sessions, I feel like I had found my true calling in music. (Even years later, when I ran into Colleen's now ex-boyfriend, he beamed with pride to co-workers when he told them about my article. Needless to say, I was very humbled by his appreciation.)

So this one should come as no surprise, since I love music and more importantly, I love  writing about music! Since my 'boy-band' days, a few years after my fated introduction to the magazine, I would have to buy every issue of Rolling Stone and read it cover to cover. When I didn't purchase it, my father would surprise me with the newest issue. Somehow, I think he always knew that this was what I was meant to do. 

I was always so fascinated with the smart writing and various music reviews. My favorites pieces were the interviews, because after reading them, I would always feel more connected to the artist. The mannerisms during their interview, the stories they would share, even the way the writer would describe their emotions and thoughts, all of it just drew me in even more. There was a larger sense of humanity and understanding....the subject would become more real to to me. And that allure of reality really lured me in further.

Of course, let's not also forget the legendary back page, filled with the top albums, singles, and flashback columns to older issues. Some of my favorite albums came from just flipping to that page and giving them a try. And when I need to discover new music, a new RS is sitting on my coffee table not even an hour later.

Every now and again I go on a hiatus from reading the publication, but I always return. Maybe it's because I'm a sucker for great writers, maybe for some of the photography that's captured. I don't know. But what I realized in high school (and even more in college) is that one day, I want to read my name in a RS by-line. It's by far my biggest dream....and one of the most important career-based ones that I desire to accomplish. 

~Jenn

Introductions and Hail to the Chief....it is his home, you know

After reading over my previous blogs, I decided that I needed to start a new one - focused mainly on accomplishing my dreams. I've been so distracted from writing lately, that when I get to sit down and write, I can never quite find the words to say. Fortunately, this summer (and year) has been an eye-opener to how I needed to start living my life, rather than accepting the status quo. In pursuit of the perfect topics to discuss, I came across an article that detailed one writer's "bucket list," which is a list of goals and aspirations that someone hopes to achieve before they "kick the bucket." It got me thinking about my own list and the things I have accomplished/would add if I had the chance.

So....here I am, ready to share my different goals from my life that I've accomplished so far (and some that I hope to), one blog entry at a time. 

#1 - Getting a Tour of The White House

When I was a little girl, probably around six or seven, my dad decided on a family weekend trip to Washington D.C. Some kids get excited about going to Disney World or Six Flags. I was excited to take tours of historic homes and museums....very unusual for a girl my age. Yet I couldn't help it, I loved learning about history and events more than going to any beach or meeting Big Bird. (But of course, I'd probably get super giddy about meeting that big yellow friend of the avian variety if I went!) 

Opting for the train instead of driving, it was a grueling 6+ hour train ride to our Nation's Capital, partially due to cramped cars. Finding a seat was almost impossible, but at about 1 or 2 am, we made it to our hotel, exhausted but excited about our plans. 

The next morning was nothing short of crazy! Trying to cram every historical place into our trip, my father decided we would walk everywhere imaginable. The Capitol, Washington Monument, Fords Theater, Lincoln Memorial, Air & Space Museum....these were a few of the places we had hoped to visit during the day. We went to every single one on our list, a whirlwind tour of our Nation's Capital. Each place carried its own personality and joie de vivre, just like any city.

But it was the White House I remember most. Being ushered in with the other tourists who clamored for a chance to see where Dolly Madison hung her laundry, the Taft bathtub, and the famous White House China. I was in awe. Here I was, seven years old, having the opportunity to tour the residence of our president. At the time, it was George Bush, Sr. 

I can remember every detail, every little nook & cranny of each room, breathing in the history of all the great men who had resided there before the current president. It's amazing how many people categorize History as 'boring' or 'unnecessary'. For me, I am reminded of where we've been and where we're headed. Every little detail gives an insight to the many who have lived under at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, their stories and legacies just as much part of that house as the paint on the walls. Understanding the past and why certain events happened the way that they did are important, especially when it comes to finding a way to connect to the present.  

I may never step foot inside the White House ever again, due to security reasons....but the experience of at least being there was a moment that I will cherish.

~Jenn