Friday Dispatch: Next Time You Hear From Me, I'll Be 50

Moments from the week

Friday greetings,

This week has been all about my last days in my 40s. As I was falling asleep last night, I was making a list of something from each year of the last decade. I started to write it out here, but it was way better in my head :)

Needless to say, it has been a wild ride, full of peaks and valleys and lots of long stretches that seemed like nothing was changing while really everything was always changing (but now that I’ve written that down, I see the holes in it, since I am someone who seems to carry a hyper-awareness of the fact that everything is changing even as it’s happening).

How’s that for a fabulous Friday morning run-on sentence for you? Woot-woot. (Our friend Doug Anderson uses the run-on sentence as a writing warm-up, where you set a timer for a few minutes and write one on purpose. It’s a wonderful, headlong, sometimes hilarious exercise, in case you want to try it yourself.)

This week I consumed copious amounts raw garlic minced in honey (chased by hot water). You are lucky you didn’t see me in person. The good news: I seem to have stayed healthy! Yay.

Aviva took me out for an early birthday breakfast Wednesday. It was SO special, from the gorgeously wrapped gifts to the gifts themselves (including this incredible art of the 10 sefirot plus accompanying cards, the size of angel cards, for each one), and most of all the love. GAH! THE LOVE. I am so lucky.

Speaking of Aviva, an essay I wrote and dedicated to her last month was published yesterday by

Midstory Magazine

, the timing of which also felt like an early birthday present. I hope you’ll enjoy reading it:

Something Epic

I received an unexpected contribution last night to the Kerri Grote Community Writers' Fund, and it prompted me to reread Kerri's obituary, which she wrote herself and which I had the privilege of editing. I'm including it at the end of this dispatch, and I cannot encourage you enough to take the time to read it – then go and live it, fully, today.

A word about the KGCWF: Any donations to this fund go towards me offering heavily reduced fees for my writing groups and pro-bono coaching. I have always wanted to make sure my work is as inclusive and accessible as possible. Being self-employed, this is an interesting proposition at times since I am also the breadwinner for my family. I have found that the more I live my values, the more authenticity I bring to my work, and that things have a way of working themselves out, if not in the ways we expect. Kerri understood all of it, and when she said "yes" to my naming the fund after her, I wept with gratitude. She was wise and soulful, hysterically funny, a beautiful writer, friend, storyteller, baker, artist, and listener, and fiercely committed to healing in her own life and in the wider world. Knowing her was one of the greatest gifts of this past decade. I miss her and thinking about her this morning brings a smile.

Other moments from this week:

M.J. surprised me by getting the piano tuned for the first time since 2013. Aaaaah. So amazing. I’ve dusted off my “Easy Classics” book, the same one I used 40 years ago.

I made some art:

I am – so far – surviving the FAFSA process as Pearl continues to submit his college applications. (Area woman found in prone positions staring at ceiling after attempting to understand implications of Student Aid Index.)

I looked through some old photos:

I got a rejection from The Sun. “This isn't a reflection on your writing.” C’est la [writing] vie.

I have a brand-new pimple. Fun! Rode out some waves of inexplicable fatigue instead of fighting them.

Had a good chat with the rabbi. I’m going to create a proposal for another writing workshop at our synagogue.

This year’s Sound of Real Life Happening group filled up! (Exciting.) And several more people signed up for this month’s Shamati Sessions. (Grateful.) There is also still room in the Jewish Jewels group that begins on 1/22. (Details on the Groups page of my website.)

Now, I’m off to get on my mat for 23 minutes (yoga with Adriene for the win), take a shower (something that apparently warrants a bona fide announcement during these winter work-from-home days – again, you might be lucky you didn’t see me in person!), then zip over to Northampton to pick up a challah from the bakery where Aviva is working part-time.

Mmmmm. Challah.

Next time you hear from me, dear reader, I’ll be 50.

This is the oldest we’ve ever been and the youngest we’ll ever be.

I’m ready to see what the next decade holds, one day at a time, as if there is any other way – and hope to continue having the pleasure and privilege of your company.

Shabbat Shalom and love,

Jena

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Kerri Grote’s Words

If you’re reading this, this fu$king brain cancer probably got me.

But let me be crystal clear while I’m able: I did not ”lose a battle” against cancer. This is a ridiculous, steamy pile of horse shit that society has dumped on cancer patients. Western medicine, and Western culture, especially, is so uncomfortable talking about death that instead it created this “battle” analogy that basically shames people who die from cancer.

News flash: None of us gets out alive from this rodeo called life.

There is no shame in dying from cancer – or any serious illness. And it doesn’t need to be a battle. It’s a transition that each of us will go through. I was asked by a shaman, whom I spoke to after my second brain surgery, “Are you running towards life or running away from death?”

Whoa! That got my attention.

There’s a BIG difference. I got it wrong more often than not.

Don’t let fear fuel your choices. Live fearlessly. Run TOWARDS life. Don’t worry about what people will think. Trust me, it doesn’t matter.

Focus on you. Be true to yourself. Be your own best friend. People who tell you you’re selfish are not your people. If the voice in your head says these unkind things, get a new voice. Honor your mental health and seek out a good therapist with the same vigor you’d search for a romantic partner.

Speaking of, be intentional about cultivating friendships that lift you up. As those friendships grow and change, don’t overlook them while you search for that “great love of your life.” (No, I’m not suggesting you sleep with your bestie. But you do you!)

Another unhelpful message that we get from society is that we need a “love of our life,” as a romantic partner.

Single and childless when I was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, I looked around my life and came up sputtering and sobbing from the wave of grief washed over me. I thought I’d be doing this alone… no husband, no kids, no “great love.”

How wrong I was. At the first appointment with my neuro oncologists, one of the nurses diligently hauled in chair after chair for the great loves of my life who came with me that horrible day and many days after that.

I sat and listened while the doctor explained the 12-month treatment plan, focusing on my breathing, then looked around the room…. filled with great loves of my life: incredible women friends whom I had met at various stages of my life.

Surround yourself with people who contradict that unkind voice, people who see your light, and remind you who you are: an amazing soul.

Learn how to receive these reflections from your people. Because they are speaking the Truth.

Love yourself, no matter how weird and silly it might feel. Every morning, give yourself a hug before your feet hit the floor. Look deeply into your eyes in a mirror. Say to yourself, out loud, “I trust you.” That voice in your head might say you’re a dork. Ignore it.

As I prepare to leave this body and embark on this mysterious journey of my soul, I hope these observations from my deathbed are somehow useful.

What I know, deep in my bones, is that learning to love myself has led me to be able to say this: I’m so proud of how I lived.

May you, dear reader, feel the same when you head out on your soul journey, too. Until then, enjoy the ride. And always eat dessert first, especially if there’s pie!

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