jenniferhawke.com

“The time just before dawn contains the most energy of all hours of the day. This has helped me become an early riser and an early doer…. When I wake to see that it’s light out already, I feel like the world has started without me.”
~ Adabella Radici

i think Saturday mornings before 7am are a special time of the week. the people Maddy and i met on our walk were definitely still awake from the night before. or recently roused from an uncomfortable snooze on a park bench or slightly secluded piece of pavement.

the street was moderately busy (traffic seems to go 24 hours around here), but people in cars before 7am are different than people walking around at 7am. having some place to go early in the morning on the weekend probably sucks. maybe it wasn’t your choice to get out of bed. maybe you awoke thinking of the other five days this week you answered the alarm call and maybe you only pulled yourself up with the promise to sleep in extra late on Sunday.

but going for a walk before 7am on a weekend with no pressing demands or errands is much different. it’s easier to dwell on the good things. you think of how the chill breeze feels nice against your rosy cheeks instead of the fact that your finger-and-ear tips are completely frozen. you smile and say “good morning” to everyone because even if they are homeless and you have nothing else in common but this early time of day, it is enough right now. you walk an extra block or two because the city busy-ness may continue to swirl around you, but the fog of sleep and caffeine and sunrise insulates you from its’ effects.

sure sure, narrow your eyes (or click away) with a glare. you can throw up a little bit in your mouth all you want. i am one of those disgustingly happy morning people. i’ve also had a sufficient amount of caffeine to ensure i could outrun you if you wanted to give me a good punch in the face.

holy crap! my first real boyfriend has a photo of himself with a baby in his lap!

and i expect people that like me to do the same in return.

i am of the admittedly somewhat negative opinion that friendships cannot be completely honest and completely amicable at the same time. which is why i only feel free to share the extent of my honest thoughts with people i no longer want to be friends with. even though i don’t think my honesty stems from any form of malice, i am aware that their reaction will be less than “friendly” in return. in fact, it can be the perfect way to end a friendship: you get to speak your mind and drive someone out of your life at the same time.

as mentioned above, this is admittedly quite a negative perspective. i don’t mean to imply that i am friends with people i dislike in secret. rather, i want to point out that none of us are perfect. and most of us prefer not to have those flaws pointed out.

is it hypocritical of us to exclaim delight in or offer praise for our friend’s new baby, new car, batch of cookies, or cocktail when we really think the baby is quite bland, the car would have been better in black, the cookies are too dry, and the cocktail not dry enough? or is the discrepancy between what we need to hear from friends and what we really feel a valid void to be filled with white lies?

i am not a person that lives or dies by compliments, but i prefer to spend my time with people who would rather dwell on my accomplishments than my failures or flaws. if everyone i know that thinks i am a pious, self-righteous, self-centered, hypocritical bitch told me so to my face, i would probably gauge whether or not their opinion had any logical merit – might even respect them a little more – and proceed to accept or brush it off accordingly. but i certainly wouldn’t go out of my way to spend time with them again.

you may say “yes, but” and claim there are examples of occasions where it is better to be honest with the friend who’s delusions have driven him to publish a completely awful book of poetry or wants your opinion on the man she’s considering marrying who has been hitting on you all night. i can’t argue with that. i only point to my initial premise that people think you are a “good friend” when you tell them what they want to hear.

“wow. those poems really touched my heart. your emotional clarity is impressive.”

or, “yesyes, i think he’s a GREAT guy. you two are going to be SO happy.”

granted, these lies only work if you don’t turn around with an i-told-you-so when the book doesn’t sell and the husband runs off with his secretary. people like to feel good about their choices and decisions. one of the main functions of friendship is to make people feel good about themselves. to feel loved. and to be loved in return. as a good friend, your job is to make the poet feel good enough about his publication to get better and try again. as a good friend, your job is to make the bride realize her groom’s indiscretion has absolutely nothing to do with her value as a beautiful woman.

i would further argue that telling the truth in these situations is fruitless because people (yes, even your friends!) are mature adults responsible for the aforementioned decisions they want to feel good about. even if the poet has an inkling in the corner of his mind that his rhymes aren’t any good, telling him isn’t doing him any favours. he probably won’t really appreciate the honest feedback and it will undermine his efforts to improve. it’s a lesson learned much more deeply on his own.

and how many times have we heard of a woman confronted with evidence of a cheating husband, only to turn on the friend who delivered the news and religiously defend her man? another lesson learned better through the experience of a poor decision.

i’m repeating myself now: as a friend it’s not your job to tell the poet that his work is awful. it’s your job to encourage him to get better. it’s not your job to tell the woman that her husband is cheating. it’s either your job to help her see/find out on her own or be there with loving words when she needs to pick up the pieces.

besides, as a good friend, i love you for who you are. not for what you do or say or don’t do or don’t say. i love you in spite of the good-or-bad decisions you make. even with more casual friends, i like spending time with you because you make me laugh. or are capable of intelligent conversation. or can balance a spoon on the end of your nose.

who am i to throw “honesty” into the middle of all that and ruin everything?

Maddy was returning the ball when the small white whirlwind blew in out of nowhere. as he slowed to place two perfect paw prints on my jeans, i couldn’t help but admire his immaculately coiffed wee white afro. the tail whirred faster than my occipital lobe could keep up with. his bark reminded me why i prefer large dogs over small ones.

i couldn’t help but laugh back into his small face. he jumped up again and took off for the nearby goal post. Maddy had now noticed his presence and – head tilted down, ball in mouth, gait picking up speed – she prepared to bowl the little white fluffball into the nearest mud puddle.

i called for her to be careful and quiet and she slowed down a tiny bit as Fluffer circled the goal post a couple of times. lifting his leg, he graffiti’d his message for the next visitors. i had to admit that the little guy was brilliant. Brenda Aloff would call this a “distance increasing behaviour” or an unexpected tap on the shoulder to distract another dog from potentially aggressive intentions. his street smarts told him that any contest with this determined bigger dog would undoubtedly ruin his perfect hairdo. instead of confronting her, he diffused her intentions with a distraction.

and it worked much more quickly than my rebuke. Maddy curiously sniffed the new wet spot and proceeded to squat (ball still in her mouth) with a counter message.

Fluffer apparently disagreed with whatever Maddy had to say because he circled and lifted his leg on her spot. the showdown continued as Maddy sniffed again. squatted again. snorted again. Fluffer was again dissatisfied with someone tagging their inferior message over his masterpiece stubbornly added another dribble. Maddy squatted, but i’m not sure she had much left in her.

this time Fluffer’s attention deficit disorder had already taken him clear across the park and i looked around for his owner. a middle-aged man stood sheepishly on the edge of the sidewalk with his hands deep in his pockets. everything about his posture shouted “IT’S NOT MY DOG.”

i shot him a sympathetic smile and watched as he tried to keep up with the wee white whirlwind. he shuffled along and called after the dog as it pinball’d off every tree, post, fence, blade of grass, person, and other dog in sight. instead of passively observing or just trying to tire her out, Maddy teaches me another valuable lesson in Dog Language every time she interacts with someone or something at the park. admittedly, i’m a slow learner.

if you only know me through this website, today’s post may come as a bit of a surprise…

in the Prince George airport on my way to Vancouver last week, i found myself divulging personal details of my life with a person i had known for less than three minutes. this was strange. i mean, it’s not like i was telling him things i haven’t told the whole Internets, but i usually prefer to steer a conversation away from myself.

unless i’m caught off guard. and that’s really my only excuse with strangers.

i like strangers. i like meeting random people. it just doesn’t happen very often because whenever i’m in public alone, i tend to be buried in a book or plugged into a meditative music machine. but if someone does have occasion to strike up a conversation with me, i’d rather hear about them. i already know all about me, so that’s boring. i don’t get a whole lot of social pleasure from talking about myself.

in fact, it usually makes me uncomfortable.

“oh, you’re in school? what are you studying?”

i hate saying “i’m going into medicine” because the reaction tends to be pity or awe. i prefer pity because the awe is still undeserved. i haven’t even started med school yet. pity is a bit condescending and makes me feel like i have to justify my decision or let the other person know that “yes, i have really considered how much it is going to suck.”

in fact, i hate talking about med school so much that i usually will say “oh, just sciences” to complete strangers.

“any plans this summer? africa, wow. what are you doing there?”

i hate saying “i’m volunteering 8 hours a day, 6 days a week for free at medical clinics and orphanages” because the reaction tends to be bewildered or awe. i prefer bewildered because awe makes me feel totally self-righteous. i am going for selfish reasons: adventure, exposure to tropical disease information, overseas medical service contacts, adventure, and photo opportunities. but my itinerary doesn’t necessary portray that at first glance. i am uncomfortable at receiving credit for being altruistic when it’s not necessarily true.

a more common answer regarding my plans this summer would probably be “oh, you know. just hanging out.”

“how’s Maddy?”

yep, i could probably talk to you all day about her. but would soon start feeling like a gushing over-proud mother who’s kid has just taken a crap in the Big People Potty for the first time and no one really cares or wants to hear about it.

instead, i’ll usually say “she’s great! how’s your dog/cat/rat/egret doing?”

“how are things?”

talking about everything else in my life is also hard because everything is just so damn good. i can’t complain to you to make your life seem better. the boyfriend is amazing, the moods are good, the time off from work and school is incredible, i’m eating well, i’m living well, and i’m happy. how’s that for a conversation stopper? in turn, i’ll ask you “so how are things with you?” and anything less than an equally glowing answer will probably make you feel like your life totally sucks.

so instead, i write. and i write. and i write.

online i get to gush about all the things i would probably never say in person because the distance between me writing and you reading absolves you from all the reactions outlined above. you don’t even have to react at all. you can click away mid-sentence, if you like. you can skim and misunderstand and get confused without looking for clarification and agree and disagree and form opinions.

and your reaction (or non-reaction) doesn’t make me feel uncomfortably pitiable or unrighteously altruistic or shallow and boring or unapologetically superior. so, i write.

needless to say, this frustrates my boyfriend, my mother, and other close friends to bits. i’m trying to learn to turn it off with people that aren’t strangers or random acquaintances. but that still needs a lot of work. in the meantime, at least i know i don’t have people saying “good GOD, she would NOT stop talking about herSELF all NIGHT. what a bore.” behind my back.

i’ll accept accusations of being a secretive snob instead. then you all just come here and find out the “secretive” part is definitely not true.

okay okay, enough with the pink petals and rain loving. you knew a moment of pure frustration and hatred was bound to arrive. this afternoon i am self-medicating a serious case of PMS with gin.

here is a list of things that normally don’t bother me, but may actually cause me to go postal and blow up the nearest cherry tree. in no particular order:

1) not having any money
i’m going to be in med school for the next few years and will be paying off loans for many years after that. i’ve definitely resigned myself to an indefinitely tight budget. but sometimes it just sucks.

2) dog hair
drives me crazy when it’s wet and stinky and clinging fanatically to every piece of black clothing i own.

3) the pile of stuff flowing out of the storage closet
it’s not my stuff and i don’t really care. unless i have to go near it. the broom is over there… so are my shoes… no cleaning or going outside for the rest of the day.

4) television
i haven’t been able to read more than a paragraph at a time today, so i’m sitting in front of two screens at once right now: the huge plasma and the tiny ibook. it’s only been a few minutes, but most programming and commercials have me doubting the sanity of our human race. i can’t wait for American Idol to start.

5) traffic outside the front window
it’s impossible to watch the aforementioned television at a normal volume with the patio door open even a crack. and don’t get me started on car alarms. instead of blowing up the cherry tree, you can submit this entry as evidence if you see a crazy woman running down main street smashing in car windows with a dog brush.

Jonathan is working late tonight. he should really take his time to ensure i’m properly medicated by the time he gets home.

per·spec·tive [per-spek-tiv]
–noun
1. the state of one’s ideas, the facts known to one, etc., in having a meaningful interrelationship: You have to live here a few years to see local conditions in perspective.
2. the faculty of seeing all the relevant data in a meaningful relationship: Your data is admirably detailed but it lacks perspective.

note the common words in both of those definitions: “meaningful” and “relationship”. perspective is relative because those words are relative. what is meaningful on one day or at one point in time, may not be the next. relationships are constantly developing and evaporating between things in our mind, people around us, goals, desires, and our perception of the past, present, and future.

that’s why external events and information have the power to shift our perspective. large events that happen directly to us may be more noticeable… but even hearing about small things that happen halfway around the world to people we have never met have immense power to change innate aspects of our character. of our perspective.

- 2007 Pulitzer Prize winner for Feature Photography: Sacramento Bee (thanks, Graham)
- out on the street in Baltimore (thanks, Superchou)
- Miss Landmine 2007 (thanks, Dr. Charles)
- Sudanese hospital (thanks, James)
- little ones too good for this world (thanks, Darlene)

what things have influenced your perspective this week?

1. If I had known what it was going to be like, I would never have done it.

48. If there is anything at all that you’d rather do in life, do not go into medicine.

60. There will be one person in your class who’s the coolest, most laid back person you’ve ever met. This guy will sit in the back row and throw paper airplanes during class, and then blow up with 260+ Step I’s after second year. True story.

63. Telling local girls at the bar that you’re a medical student doesn’t mean shit. They’ve been hearing that for years. Be more unique.

64. The money isn’t really that good in medicine. Not if you look at it in terms of hours worked.

90. The best time of your entire medical school career is between the times when you first get your acceptance letter and when you start school.

96. Medicine is better than being a janitor, but there were times when I envied the people cleaning the hospital trash cans.

you know you want to read it too.

that tree again. this morning the pink petals are winging about like tiny confused butterflies. they eventually swirl graceful deaths to the pavement. or stick to the window. Maddy has just left the couch to inform a skateboarder he is too loud for this section of the street. the grey sky has just started to share its’ light load. i just finished my second cup of coffee and a bowl of sprouted grain cereal.

i am on the couch this morning instead of at the desk in the little sun room. cross-legged, my bare feet stick to calves exposed by the capri-style jeans i wore for our walk earlier. i probably won’t shower until later this afternoon. my hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail. the patio door is open and a cool breeze chills the tops of my knuckles as i type. i like typing away from the desk, but i hate the laptop mouse pad and the way it strains my fingers in an awkward manner.

Maddy has jumped back up on the couch an sent me an inquisitive yawn: “is this what we’re doing this morning?” she accepts my answer and blinks slowly while resting her chin on the edge of the arm. her tail is curled around tightly and one paw bent backwards.

Jonathan comes home in the evening and likes to hear what i’ve been up to all day. i wish i could stretch my short answers. the truth is i don’t seem to do much, but the hours positively fly by. how can you explain thoughts that took hours to slowly develop like photographs in a darkened room? how can you do justice to a day that had no “to do” lists, no errands, no tangible goals, and yet was completely fulfilling on its’ own?

today i want to call my mom. i want to finagle the firefox flickr colour palette issue. i want to walk and walk and take photos. i want to finish another book. i want to nap. i want to smell spring and scuff my rubber boot in the soft earth. i want to catch up on email. i want to forget about the computer.

last night i looked at the clock and could not believe it was 8pm. so much to do, so little time.