Finding My Voice, Part 2 of "What is Your Identity"
What if you had the opportunity to go back in time and be a fly on your wall? You could laugh at the silly scenes from your younger years in high school, or cringe at the cheesiness on those first dates with your spouse.
One way to relive the past is by reading old journals or finding the old blog you started freshman year of college! Yikes, but here I am...I found it.
I am resurrecting this sucker because my husband and I are going on a big adventure soon and I want to document our experiences and be intentional with my writing/photographs.
There's some pretty interesting blog posts in here, 😬 but I'd like to think there are some gold nuggets of "Jana truth" from my days as a wee lassie.
But today, I want to write about Finding My Voice (Part 2 to my last blog I wrote in 2012).
"What is Your Identity" was not intended to be a blog - it was a final paper for my sports journalism class senior year at UW. The final assignment had to be a creative story of our choice, related to sports.
I chose to write about my father, Greg Jack. When it came to important writing assignments, I could always write about my dad. He was an all-around stud growing up and has been an idol to me and many others.
To be a fly on dad's wall in 1975... now that would be a treat.
I wrote about his life as a basketball star, and how I followed in his footsteps in many ways. At the time I was very focused on who I was...my identity. I was four months away from graduating college and really had no idea what I wanted to do.
While I was writing the story, dad was really sick. He had been living with chronic progressive multiple sclerosis for over 20 years, but his health dipped considerably in 2011/2012.
A couple days before I submitted the final assignment "What is Your Identity," my dear father passed away.
Submitting this piece was a struggle. I remember walking to the front of the classroom after everyone else had left, and with tears in my eyes, I told my professor what happened.
His expression said it all - his eyes showed true compassion, and I knew he could relate to how I was feeling. In that moment, I knew I had a true friend to support me, not just an ordinary professor.
God was looking out for me by having Jerry Brewer as my professor during that time.
Jerry was a Seattle Times sports columnist for nine years. In 2015, he moved on to a great position at the Washington Post. Since my college days we have stayed in touch, and he has been a great mentor and encourager over the years.
I met with Jerry for lunch a few years back when I was working at KOMO TV in Seattle. We talked about life and loss, dreams and setbacks, and how to make bold, sometimes terrifying life decisions.
I revealed to him that I hadn't been writing. It was a writer's block that was lasting for years, and I couldn't break through.
One thing I could do, Jerry suggested, is re-write my story about my dad. Or at least re-write the ending.
Writing has always been a creative and expressive outlet for me, but I was stuck in a place of resistance. In fact, I am just now beginning to rise up out of that muddy dark place.
After years of grief with no expressive outlet, I knew this was something I should do.
Looking back at my writing before my dad died, my words and thoughts were filled with passion and excitement. I was jazzed about some of the most mundane things. I was emotional and spirited, with incredible attention to detail.
When dad was sick I was committed to being a light and hope, for him and my family. When someone's whole life changes because of disease or a tragic accident, you're forced to slow down. If you're stuck in a wheel chair paralyzed, life can get extremely sad very quickly, unless you find meaning and joy in the small things.
Jerry could see that I was struggling. I needed to start writing again, and maybe, the only way I could get back to that place of flowing inspiration was to face and finish the painful story I wrote when dad died. It's definitely a healing process - to confront and overcome the inner blocks in my mind and heart.
After dad passed, many things I once felt passion for just seemed stupid to care or write about. It all seemed pointless.
Living with intention and paying attention to my present feelings and surroundings goes hand-in-hand with writing for me. Before and during college, all my senses were awake. I approached every situation as if I had to write a story on it later. It may sound exhausting, but it really wasn't. It was acute awareness. I truly listened to people and their stories. I was focused on every aspect when I went out to dinner- the color of the walls, the music playing, the smells, the taste- I savored every sip and every bite.
We so often try to stimulate our senses, whether through sugar, TV, wine, travel, whatever. But real life offers the best stimulation - if we just slow down enough to really experience our surroundings, our friends, our partner, or the simple dinner we made. This is how I want to live again. I am ready to live this way again. To really feel the pain and the pleasure.
To s l o w d o w n.
How very marvelous it feels to find my voice.
I feel like I've 'waken up,' and I am beginning to heal in different way.
Thank you to my family and friends who have loved me along the way. And a special thank you to Jerry Brewer for always believing in me, and giving me the motivation to start writing again.
Peace & Love to All 🕊
* "A Grace Disguised: How the Soul Grows through Loss" - Jerry Sittser
One way to relive the past is by reading old journals or finding the old blog you started freshman year of college! Yikes, but here I am...I found it.
I am resurrecting this sucker because my husband and I are going on a big adventure soon and I want to document our experiences and be intentional with my writing/photographs.
There's some pretty interesting blog posts in here, 😬 but I'd like to think there are some gold nuggets of "Jana truth" from my days as a wee lassie.
But today, I want to write about Finding My Voice (Part 2 to my last blog I wrote in 2012).
"What is Your Identity" was not intended to be a blog - it was a final paper for my sports journalism class senior year at UW. The final assignment had to be a creative story of our choice, related to sports.
I chose to write about my father, Greg Jack. When it came to important writing assignments, I could always write about my dad. He was an all-around stud growing up and has been an idol to me and many others.
To be a fly on dad's wall in 1975... now that would be a treat.
I wrote about his life as a basketball star, and how I followed in his footsteps in many ways. At the time I was very focused on who I was...my identity. I was four months away from graduating college and really had no idea what I wanted to do.
While I was writing the story, dad was really sick. He had been living with chronic progressive multiple sclerosis for over 20 years, but his health dipped considerably in 2011/2012.
A couple days before I submitted the final assignment "What is Your Identity," my dear father passed away.
Submitting this piece was a struggle. I remember walking to the front of the classroom after everyone else had left, and with tears in my eyes, I told my professor what happened.
His expression said it all - his eyes showed true compassion, and I knew he could relate to how I was feeling. In that moment, I knew I had a true friend to support me, not just an ordinary professor.
God was looking out for me by having Jerry Brewer as my professor during that time.
Jerry was a Seattle Times sports columnist for nine years. In 2015, he moved on to a great position at the Washington Post. Since my college days we have stayed in touch, and he has been a great mentor and encourager over the years.
I met with Jerry for lunch a few years back when I was working at KOMO TV in Seattle. We talked about life and loss, dreams and setbacks, and how to make bold, sometimes terrifying life decisions.
I revealed to him that I hadn't been writing. It was a writer's block that was lasting for years, and I couldn't break through.
One thing I could do, Jerry suggested, is re-write my story about my dad. Or at least re-write the ending.
Writing has always been a creative and expressive outlet for me, but I was stuck in a place of resistance. In fact, I am just now beginning to rise up out of that muddy dark place.
After years of grief with no expressive outlet, I knew this was something I should do.
Looking back at my writing before my dad died, my words and thoughts were filled with passion and excitement. I was jazzed about some of the most mundane things. I was emotional and spirited, with incredible attention to detail.
When dad was sick I was committed to being a light and hope, for him and my family. When someone's whole life changes because of disease or a tragic accident, you're forced to slow down. If you're stuck in a wheel chair paralyzed, life can get extremely sad very quickly, unless you find meaning and joy in the small things.
Jerry could see that I was struggling. I needed to start writing again, and maybe, the only way I could get back to that place of flowing inspiration was to face and finish the painful story I wrote when dad died. It's definitely a healing process - to confront and overcome the inner blocks in my mind and heart.
After dad passed, many things I once felt passion for just seemed stupid to care or write about. It all seemed pointless.
Living with intention and paying attention to my present feelings and surroundings goes hand-in-hand with writing for me. Before and during college, all my senses were awake. I approached every situation as if I had to write a story on it later. It may sound exhausting, but it really wasn't. It was acute awareness. I truly listened to people and their stories. I was focused on every aspect when I went out to dinner- the color of the walls, the music playing, the smells, the taste- I savored every sip and every bite.
We so often try to stimulate our senses, whether through sugar, TV, wine, travel, whatever. But real life offers the best stimulation - if we just slow down enough to really experience our surroundings, our friends, our partner, or the simple dinner we made. This is how I want to live again. I am ready to live this way again. To really feel the pain and the pleasure.
To s l o w d o w n.
“It is therefore not true that we become less through loss—unless we allow the loss to make us less, grinding our soul down until there is nothing left but an external self entirely under the control of circumstances. Loss can also make us more. In the darkness we can still find the light. In death we can also find life. It depends on the choices we make.” *
How very marvelous it feels to find my voice.
I feel like I've 'waken up,' and I am beginning to heal in different way.
Thank you to my family and friends who have loved me along the way. And a special thank you to Jerry Brewer for always believing in me, and giving me the motivation to start writing again.
Peace & Love to All 🕊
* "A Grace Disguised: How the Soul Grows through Loss" - Jerry Sittser
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