without gps

I have this old, worn and tattered atlas. You know, an atlas, that piece of paper with roads of different colors showing freeways, state roads, and dirt road and green indicating national forests and little dots representing cities. My atlas is becoming an antique, in that no one, apparently, uses atlases anymore--and I did purchase it in approximately 2007. But I love my atlas. It's been across the country and back (and then again). It's traveled on adventures in Virginia, DC, Maryland, and Delaware. In California. In Colorado. And all throughout Utah and Idaho. There is something I love about maps. There is excitement and hope in a map. You can plot your route as best as you know, but there is always the unknown as you start and as you travel. And isn't that how life is... hopefully we have some general sort of idea of where we're going. But the greatest beauty of life is taking that general sort of idea and then experiencing the unexpected turns and vistas along the way. 

Before I started my latest travels to California, I was teased a bit about my atlas and my lack of GPS. Now, don't get me wrong, GPS is great--it's nice to not be continuously lost. But sometimes, it is pretty great getting a little bit lost. Or at least traveling off the well familiar road. There is something freeing to be able to take a road that looks interesting. Or being able to stop and investigate when you see something crazy. No auto-mechanical nagging voice telling you to turn right or turn left or make a u turn as soon as possible. Because you might just discover this crazy, random collection of structures that could easily be from some hippie commune experiment. (Whatever it is, I am still thinking of it nearly a week later.) 

 

Freeways were built for a reason. Travel is quick these days and you can make good time on a freeway. In fact, on the freeway, you are almost compelled to make "good time." Even if you see something that looks interesting, if you are on a freeway, you are more likely to keep on going and continue on the road well traveled. The road less traveled might add more time to your travel, but sometimes it makes that journey a whole lot more interesting. Why follow the path everyone else takes? Why not strike out without GPS every now and then?

An atlas gives you the big picture. A picture of what is around you. But until you are there, in the midst of it, all an atlas provides is a hope or a vision. Sure that little grey road looked harmless enough--who knew it would be a narrow two lane winding mountain road full of speeding California drivers? But that's the fun! Discovery. The Mojave National Preserve was once a large green blurb on my map. Now it is a place of cactus balls stuck in my feet, lizards falling out of trees, amazing blue sky, 117 degree heat, and beautiful open space.

This journey to California became a journey of discovery and rediscovery. I rediscovered my love of George Strait. I rediscovered my love of new adventures and open space and deserts. And I made a new discovery: I quite like old forgotten motels (and other built structures) along old forgotten roads. So even in the hum drum of everyday, I hope to still rediscover the things I've always loved (like writing!) and hopefully discover old and forgotten things with new eyes.

34

It will be a year I will be okay never repeating.

One year ago this week, I was having a complete meltdown in a very public space. (I have since had pretty memorable meltdowns at work, at home, and while being pulled over by the cops, but I digress) But on this day, October 12, 2011, I was sure my world would never be the same. And I was a little bit right. I thought my life was over and could never be good again. I was a little bit right (there's a lot that can always go wrong and a lot of things have changed). But I was a lot wrong, too.

October is a cruel month. I hate all the pink. But I love the leaves. I love the fall! I hate the reminders of finding cures, being a survivor, etc. I hate that breast cancer is used as a marketing tool. But I love that I have a birthday this month. I absolutely love that I have a birthday this month. For those who knew me "back in the day" (i.e college, which I realize is now becoming a distant memory), well, let's just say I haven't always loved my birthday.

I love that I am close to my family and can see my nephew play soccer, and take him to the museum, and build forts, and do science experiments. I love that I can be close to my amazing and inspiring mother. I love that I can escape to the mountains, the desert and soon the snowy slopes for a stillness I only find in nature. I love that I work in a museum in an amazing community. I love the new people I am fortunate to meet. I love that I have great friends who have laughed and cried through many moments of life. I love that I get to have great conversations with my brothers. I love that I have made monumentally bad decisions this year. I love that I can finally say that I am grateful for the things I have learned this year. I wouldn't want to repeat the specifics of it all. Ever. But, it is my life. And I love it.

One of the most liberating things about this year has been that I have (hopefully) discarded the tendency to look into the future too far. Or think in terms of the way things "will be." Or "should be." Or even "could be." I am still very hopeful, but this photo is what it's all about. It's just about the journey. It is the one million small things along the way that make the journey what it is. It is the views from the trail that make it worth sharing the story. Sure, the view from Angel's Landing is amazing. But no one tells the story of when they are hanging around at the top. The story is in the harrowing experience going up (and coming back down!). It's the sheer drop offs that people who hike it talk about. As it should be. But equally noteworthy to the harrowing drama is the time you take a nap on some random red rock, soaking up the sun. A nice summer evening eating Aggie ice cream. Hiding in the same places over and over again just because your nephew wants to play hide and seek and there's only so many places you fit in your apartment. Sitting and just talking with your mom. These are the million things that make our lives--from the harrowing to the humdrum. It won't matter what happens in that future we all seem to be so worried about, because the point is really in the journey. 

My health is great. It was a rocky year. But one small moment after another, I am realizing for all the things that I had to let go of this year, I am turning 34 this month.

And I am really excited about that!

i guess we always have hope

At various times in my life I have always wanted just a little glimpse into the future.

I wanted just a glimpse to help me in my decisions. But my present day, the one I am living in 2011, was once just the future of a starry eyed freshman. And for all the good that has happened in my life, I am grateful Jenette of freshman year at Utah State wasn't able to see Jenette of today.

Tonight, as I breezed past Moen Hall in just a few seconds, I remembered that freshman year at Utah State . It was a turning point in life. Previously, life had generally been dictated by the decisions of others--where to move, what food was around, where to go on vacation, etc. Moving away meant decisions became mine, for better or worse. From that day forward, it was up to me to decide. The decisions of others still played a role, often very important ones, but I could always process the results of those decisions knowing that someone had made a decision.

Since then life has always fallen into those two categories of decisions--decisions of others and my own decisions. Often decisions of other have hurt me. Sometimes my own decisions prove to be devastating. Other times I make good decisions and life turns out wonderfully. And often, the decisions of others have blessed my life immensely. It has always been about managing those choices I make and those made around me.

But there is also an option I hadn't thought much about...things that happen that no one decides. They happen through God, or the universe, or mother nature, or the human body, or science--what have you. When these things happen, it is hard to know how to proceed, and I find myself wishing I could see into the future. But in the moment I wish for that, I know I don't want it to come true.

On one hand, I think freshman Jenette would have gained a lot of confidence knowing that she would find a career she loves, go to grad school, live in Washington, DC for a short time, and work at an incredible Museum. Seeing into the future would have been a confidence booster. But on the flip side, if I could see the things in the future that aren't so positive, the sickness and heartbreak, I would be devastated. Knowing such things were ahead, how could I have even moved forward with any confidence?

And that leaves us with hope. Because even in the midst of heart breaking sadness, we can hold on to hope. Maybe the future is going to be no more brighter than it is at the darkest moment, but the hope that perhaps it could be bright again gives us some strength. And when things then turn out better than we could have ever imagined, what amazing joy we can feel. And if things don't turn out how we would have hoped, we can look to the past, knowing we had strength once before, and look to the future, again, with hope.

transition times (with the option of hope)

As a history nut, the past fascinates me. Unfortunately, I also can get a little obsessed with it as well (generally this happens with my own past). As I have begun to feel more comfortable with my new job, I have found the fun in getting to know the past of Park City. And how I wish I could have seen those days! Don't get me wrong, Park City of today is a fun little place to play, but I really wish I could have seen it then. The booming mine town. The early days of skiing. Saloons. Red Light District. What's not to love?! But lately I have wanted to see the Park City of the 1950s and 60s. Probably not the most exciting time in the towns history, needless to say. Some called it a "ghost town." Mining still happened, but was not the glory days it had been. Skiing hadn't taken off. It was the transition time. If you have been to Park City today, you know the quaint ski resort town with fun Main Street, teeming with restaurants, galleries, and bars and mountainsides of outdoor fun. Goggle it, if you haven't been there, and you will see a resort town dream. But at the Museum, we have some great pictures of a dilapidated, run down Park City, where paint is peeling off buildings and you can almost picture a tumbleweed rolling down the road. This is the Park City I am currently obsessed with.

Maybe I'm obsessed with this time because things were so uncertain there in Park City. It could have become another random ghost town. No one knew the future--they knew the snow was good, but they couldn't have seen the resort town it is today. Lots of people moved. Some stayed. And Park City was eventually reborn. My life is going through a transition too. It has finally hit me that I moved (I know, delayed reaction of about six months...), have a good job, and an apartment all to myself. So it's creating that new life. And truth be told I have always hated the transition time. I hate change. And then I dwell on the past. Nostalgia is easy. It is easy to spot the things you should have done to make things easier now. It is easy to remember the good times. It is easy to spot the diverging roads in your past that could have led you somewhere else. It is harder (for me, anyway), to look ahead with the option of hope. Hope that my life won't turn into a ghost town, but will instead be a resort destination. I have had a few major transitions in my life, and each time has found me fighting those transitions tooth and nail. But, in the end, I have always loved what transpired . So I'm sure I will love what happens next in my own little history.

P. S. Though I think I would love it more if it didn't involve snow in April. *Sigh* Spring in the Rockies is highly overrated.

generation x

I have been obsessed with generations lately. This is due to a new traveling exhibit at the Park City Museum called Our Lives, Our Stories: America's Greatest Generation. This is an interactive exhibit, with 1950s kitchen and tv dinners (with a tv that plays commercials) and a 1930s soda fountain with a radio announcing the attack on Pearl Harbor. Along with all the fun little gadgets, the exhibit uses oral histories to tell the stories of the Greatest Generation. You won't find all the facts and world leaders of WWII, for example, but you read and hear people's experiences regarding this period of time. It has made for a great time for people to remember and learn about this time and important generation.

Here's our Museum's link about the exhibit:
http://www.parkcityhistory.org/exhibits/our-lives-our-stories-americas-greatest-generation/

Alright, so in my planning for school programs, tours, (and maybe some programming!) for the exhibit, I have been interested in all the "other" (not greatest, I guess) generations. You have the "Silent Generation" after the "Greatest Generation" (basically those born during the war, fought in Korea, etc.), then the "Baby Boom" which we all hear SO much about. Then, smashed between the Baby Boom and the oh-so-delightful "Millennials," we have my generation, "Generation X." I barely squeeze in by most accounts, it's true. But I am glad I do. Although the Millennial generation seems (or maybe likes to think it and promote as such) to be taking over, I am glad to be the kind of quirky generation between two monsters (population wise...of course).

I am glad I remember all that "grunge" music and Kurt Cobain. I am glad that we have this stereotype of being resistant against the norms and establishment. I am glad we have all those great movies from the 80s (though, to be fair, I discovered them after the 80s....I didn't have a tv when I was a kids, after all). I am glad I grew up without relying on all this technology (though I am glad people were always worried about our TV watching, etc.). I am glad I really loved Titanic when it came out, then retroactively hated it. I am glad I am one of those "latch key kids" (okay...my parents were always there for me--but they are divorced). I am glad I watched Beverley Hill 90210 for a bit. I am really glad I had really bad hair and clothes. My thinking about right and goodness in the world was shaken by 9/11, but that only added to my growth and development into an adult (which I'm still not, I am convinced).

I am glad for all of these things, because despite the stereotypes, Generation X has adapted quite well to the world--I think. See, there is this station here in Salt Lake that only plays Gen X music. I listened to it for a few days straight because of this generation obsession of mine. There were some great flashback moments to music I haven't heard for awhile. But so much of the music is not good. So that's the beauty of life--we evolve. Stations worth listening to take the good from that Gen X and mix it up with the good stuff of today. Hopefully my life can take the lessons I learned and the good from my growing up and mix it up with what I'm learning today to create something really wonderful. The trick for anyone, I think, is to not get too caught up in any one stage of our lives. When that happens, life becomes less wonderful because we aren't discovering all of the great things in the here and now.

Okay, that's my ramble.

Oh, one more thing--remember Crash Test Dummies? Ha, ha... The lead singer Brad Robers was in (Or will be? I can't remember now) Park City. It's just funny to remember that funny song they had. I hadn't given it a thought for years, then I saw that.

tourism on a whole new level

So, I have been finding new ways to think about tourists since I now work in a Museum driven by resort tourism. It has been enlightening, and has caused me to readjust my thinking about my work in Museums. Tourists in DC are a bit different than tourists in Park City. And the local population that would visit the Museum in Park City has very different expectations than the population in DC. It is going to be a fun journey in planning educational opportunities for these diverse populations.

But mostly I am glad I am not in charge of one of the world's (soon to be) newest tourist attractions--Chernobyl. Yep. The Ukraine wants to turn this delightful spot into a tourist spot. Apparently radiation in some spots is returning to normal. So there you go...book your next flight asap.

http://www.cnn.com/2010/WORLD/europe/12/13/ukraine.chernobyl/

what we need

What we want isn't what we always get. That's what we tell kids when they can't have the toy, the candy, more playtime (rather than going to bed or eating). We're the adults, so we can tell kids that. But do we listen to our own lessons? We aren't that much different. Recently I have been whining because I have something amazing, but it isn't what I wanted. But the truth of the matter is, rather than getting what we want, we often get what we need instead. That is annoying to kids. And quite frankly, it is annoying to me too. In the moment, I get frustrated by the disconnect between wanting and needing.

But tonight I remembered back one year ago, to my birthday. I needed a break from the city, from people. So, I drove myself out to the Shenandoahs. I really wanted to see the fall colors. The beautiful leaves. Some peace from the noise, from school, from boys ruining my life. It was a gorgeous drive. The mountains were great. The small towns were amazingly charming. It was beautiful and it was fall in all its beauty. Rolling landscape and comforting trees.

When I got there, I drove a little higher in elevation. And then it happened...it started to snow on all the beautiful fall colors. The snow was ruining what I had wanted so much! At first I was a bit sad, but that sadness turned into pure joy. I couldn't help but feel my soul giving a huge sigh of relief. The snow was what I really needed that day. I had wanted the fall colors, and they were amazing, but I got something much greater in the journey--snow. I hadn't realized that is what I needed, but it was just thing for my soul. (Of course, little did I know that a few months later I would have had enough of snow! Ha, ha...)




And so goes my life. I wanted a job so badly. But I didn't realize I didn't want one in Utah until I got it. So I mope. And I continue to whine, just a bit. And I just wait for the snow (metaphorically...though I know it is literally right around the corner). The snow that will let me know that this is indeed what I need more than anything I could have thought I wanted.

So, I just breathe in the cold mountain air and I let my life just be. It's a great journey, to be sure. Patience is not my strongest virtue. But patience is what I will have to exercise. The patience to allow time to pass so that I finally will accept that what I have and got is exactly what I needed all along. That's the trick for me. Because when I feel that joy in my soul, that sigh of relief, I will know that what I needed all along is also what I wanted, but I just didn't realize it. And I will be okay that I am back.