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