A Familiar, But Older Face

When I tell people I work as a writer, I usually receive a "oh, you're a journalist?" I then have to surprise them by revealing that I never went to journalism school, never studied communications, and never had to read War and Peace (that's right, I wasn't an English major either). Though I've flirted with the idea of becoming a print journalist, I haven't done anything yet to bring anything to fruition.

While at a conference this past week, during a discussion of the responsibilities of a particular job, I heard one of the attendees start a comment with, "Twenty years from now when we're all gone—"
She was referring to herself and colleagues who would be retired by then. Naturally, my brain took that phrase, conferred with my imagination, and together they came up with an image of me encountering a me who was twenty years older... 51 years old.

I pictured the surprise on both faces as their eyes registered the future and the past. As part of being a self-proclaimed weirdo, I'll admit to sometimes wishing for the three ghosts from A Christmas Carol to visit me, particularly the Ghost of Christmas Future. I want to know something, anything about what's to come.

So as I took my conference notes, I imagined what would happen at such a meeting. What insight I'd gain about my future life. I combined what I've learned about interviewing a source, with all I know of creative expression to conduct an "interview" with 51-year-old Jennifer. While my representative carefully studied the presenters' slides, who would have thought that I had secretly escaped further into my imagination for a little playtime.

[after excited yelps and hugs and kisses between the two]

31: Thank you for speaking with me today, Jennifer.
51: Don't I always find time to talk to myself?
31: You haven't lost your sense of humor I see.
51: Life tried to take it from me, but I held on.
31: You look great.
51: Why thank you. If you stop eating sweets right now, and manage to keep it that way, you can pull this off too.

31: Um, how many books have you written?
51: Twelve.
31: Big publishing house or self-published?
51: Both actually. I publish my and my mother's books, as well as a few other authors. Under my own company ____ Publishing (editor's note: company name cannot be revealed), a big publishing house.

31: Did you finish the story about Ronald and Lauren?
51: I'm glad you asked about that. I did. Won a few awards for it, and a filmmaker buddy made it into a movie. Can't tell you who plays Ronald though. Can't spoil the surprise.
31: Oh my goodness, this is unbelievable. I actually accomplish something.
51: And so much more.
31: This is amazing to hear.

31: As you may recall, I'm worried about turning 40, getting older scares me. What's it like to be 51?
51: Wow, did I really sound this sickening back then? No offense, youngin', but complaining about 40? Must be nice. But to answer your question, it feels just like 31. Except I'm 51. My mind hasn't changed but my body is playing by its own rules. Menopause finally came, to answer your other question you asked when you were 12.

31: Do you have children?
51: Eleven. You do become a foster parent, Jennifer. Eleven special men and women refer you as 'Ma.' And eight little boys and girls call you 'Big Ma.'
31: Oh my goodness, really?

31: Are you still different? You know what I mean don't you?
51: Yes. And yes, I'm still different. But check this out, I fit in a little bit more now. Mean people went out of style some years ago. 'Please' and 'thank you' are normal things to hear from everyone these days. Chivalry even came back. All the good decent women who want to be married are, I tell you the world is pretty nice.
31: Really? Am I to believe what I am hearing?
51: And get this. A study found that C average students are better people and have longer life spans than overachievers. Scholarship committees all over the world now treat people of average intelligence and academic ability with respect and give them a chance too.
31: I'm stunned, I'm just stunned. You mean, in your time, people like us are eligible for free rides too?
51: Yes, Virginia, there is indeed a Santa Claus.

51: Anything else you want to know, I really must get back to my life and you must return to yours. Being that this whole thing totally goes against the rules of the universe, time travel, and parallel dimensions.
31: Is there anything I should avoid? You know, any people to stay away from?
51: Do you like who I am Jennifer?
31: Of course. We're amazing.
51: Well if I told you what to avoid then you'd never learn what you need to get here. Just keep trusting your instinct. And regardless of how unfair things appear, don't let it change you. Now I must take my leave of you, Sweety. Take care of yourself okay?

31: Wait, one more thing. Do you ever meet that person who finally sees you. Really sees who and what you are?
51: Yes. We finally do.

I’m So Special: The Narcissist’s Anthem

I’m so special
I’m so special, so special, so special

This is the addictive chant of a popular dancehall song, which, not surprisingly, is titled “I’m So Special.” The artist’s name is Movado, in case you want to hear it for yourself.

While many people aren’t as bold to make such a proclamation, the evidence of a majority of the population’s sense of “specialness” can be found on blogs, social networking profiles, and just about any other medium accessed by other humans.

Look how special I am everyone, they flaunt.
Read my opinion of politics, the deterioration of the family structure, rude people, interracial relationships, sex, they beg.
Look at how adventurous I am, I’m in a raft; I’m climbing a mountain, look at me, they show off.
Listen to my cover of this Otis Redding song, don’t I sound just like him? Give me a record deal, they bay.

I’m so special, they appeal to the masses.

And yes readers, so am I. My confession for today is that the older I get, the more fascinated with myself I become. I enjoy the way I talk and laugh, the way I think, my bizarre and dark sense of humor, my personality, how quickly my nails grow, how goofy I dance, just about everything about me is special.

I’ve often wished that I could clone myself so that I could hang out with someone just like me. I’ve also wished I could have neighbors just like me (to ensure decency), coworkers as considerate as me, customer service people who were as professional and kind as me. I’ve even expressed to my mother what a wonderful child I was, and that I would consider myself extremely lucky to be blessed with children who behave in the same manner.

So, much like those people, I regularly venture online to tell the world how I’m feeling, what I want out of life, what I think about life, what I’ve analyzed about my behavior. Perhaps I’m under the delusion that the world cares. Or perhaps I’m sitting here giggling in delight at the cleverness of my own thoughts and how happy I am to write all of this just for me.

Whatever it is, I’m here to report that it has spread to my offline life. I’ve started a “Facebook” page at the entrance of my cubicle, to notify coworkers of my daily thoughts. I call it Penny For My Thoughts. It’s a sheet of paper with a real penny taped on it and filled with my “postings.” I don’t get much foot traffic, so I doubt more than two people even realize what’s written on those papers stuck to the outside of Jennifer’s cube. But it’s there, folks. From my dreams of homeownership, to how I can be found at home on Friday nights while other D.C. singles are out on dates.

What would possess me to do such a thing? I’m so special. I’m so special, so special, so special.