Tag Archives: jypsy

What Would It Be Like?

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to say goodbye to the city, to my fast-paced life with a schedule that’s filled every night, and move to a lonely cabin in the woods.


Sometimes I wonder, if I stopped following social media and a steady stream of breaking news, if I put myself in a nook in the woods, would I be able to read deeply?


If I cast aside my iPhone, would I stop being too busy to get back to people?


Would I finally be able to write?


Maybe I could write on a typewriter that matches my land line phone.


I would spend my days running on the mountain trails.


Maybe I’d even fulfill my childhood dream of owning a horse.


I’d spend my nights reading by firelight…


…and gazing at the stars on crystal clear nights, unpolluted by human civilization. I would feel small yet significant because I have a place in God’s universe.


I would be at peace. I would feel alive. I would become myself.


Would I miss dinners with friends at hitherto-untried restaurants with local farm fresh food?


Running, not alone, but together.


Writing that serves a particular function in the real world.


Finding God between skyscrapers and in the voices of the ever-changing cast of characters in my life.


Perhaps the question should be, how can I bring an oasis of stillness, solitude, and rootedness into my daily existence?

“At the still point, there the dance is…”

More than Skin-Deep: Metaphors of Facials and Blemishes

“It’s a bug bite, not a pimple,” she insisted to anyone who would listen, referring to the large red welt rising on her right cheek.

“What does it really matter?” my thirteen-year-old self replied. “It looks the same either way.”

When she looked offended and walked away, I realized she’d missed my point. I was trying to ask her a philosophical question: If you have to suffer an unsightly mark on your face, why is it comparatively better to have a bug bite as opposed to a pimple? Why did it make her feel better if people knew it wasn’t a pimple? It must be that in some subconscious way we’d come to believe that pimples are blemishes that go deeper than our skin.

Blackhead Extraction
Blackhead Extraction: Photo from http://www.lydiasarfati.com/tips-for-exceptional-facial-extractions.php

Today, at age 26 (twice the age of the version of myself that asked that question and perhaps in possession of only half the wisdom), I had my very first facial. It was a surprisingly relaxing hour of waxing hair from my eyebrows and upper lip, rubbing bits of rhubarb, pumpkin enzyme, and birch wood on my face, and poking and prodding to extract blackheads and other “debris” from my follicles and pores. Perhaps the facial was so enjoyable because of the accompanying shoulder and hand massage or the foot warmer in the table where I was lying. But I think it was the feeling that I was being deeply cleansed.

I first got the idea that I “needed” a facial several months ago when I went to a salon to get my eyebrows waxed. As usual, I had gone longer in between waxes than the beauticians recommend, so I was already feeling slightly embarrassed about the untamed hair sprouting above my eyes. I lay down on the table, and the woman who would be doing the waxing started planning her attack.

“Would you like to get a facial today as well?” she asked.

“Uh…excuse me?”

“A facial. You should really think about getting one. It’ll help clear up your blemishes.”

“I’ll think about it,” I replied, trying to make sure I didn’t sound offended at her helpful, if also slightly self-serving, suggestion.

As she started to apply the wax to my eyebrows, I wrote a little speech in my head. I wanted to explain to her that I had never struggled much with acne before, even as a teenager. It had only started to be a problem since I became a long-distance runner, having sweat and salt and dirt and leftover sticky energy gels coating my face during runs that lasted 3-4 hours, and then getting home and having about a million other priorities besides immediately washing my face (such as eating, drinking water, getting warm, or collapsing in a heap on the floor).

“If you knew the journey I’ve been on to get these blemishes, maybe you’d see them more deeply,” I wanted to say. “Maybe you’d realize that they aren’t ugly; they’re actually battle scars, some representing victory and others representing perseverance in the face of defeat.”

“Maybe they are ugly,” I amended in my mental discourse. “But they’re a side effect of so many beautiful things that far outweigh their ugliness.”

And then I started thinking about the people I cross paths with every day, some of whom behave in ways that seem ugly to me. Maybe I should cut them some slack, I mused while the woman continued to rip off strips of wax from my face and tried to coax me into salon small talk. Maybe I should recognize that everyone is a work in progress. Sometimes ugliness reveals itself on the journey toward beauty.

This idea was further underscored during my facial today. The blackhead extraction hurt a bit, my skin is currently red and raw, and my blemishes are more pronounced than when I went in. The esthetician warned me about all of this. “Your skin is going to need time to heal,” she said. “When it does, it’ll be so much smoother than it was before.”

In order to get my skin healthy, she had to dig deep below the surface and unearth the grime that has made its home there for months or even years. (“This blackhead was nearly a quarter of an inch long!” she exclaimed at one point.) The process was painful and made the ugly blemishes even more pronounced.

Sometimes this is the case in life as well. I hope I am becoming a more mature, compassionate, wise person – but then I act in such a way that I begin to think I haven’t made any progress. In fact, maybe I’ve even gotten worse.

I need to recognize that unearthing character blemishes is a painful process that will sometimes make the blemishes even more pronounced for a time. Rather than measure my progress like a strict schoolteacher with a wooden ruler, I need to grant myself grace and time to heal. I need the opportunity to dig beneath my blemishes instead of concealing them with pore-clogging cover-up every day. I truly believe that until I learn how to think this way about my own journey, I will always struggle to be compassionate and understanding of other people.

So here’s to 2014 – a year of extracting blackheads and applying soothing balms!

What This Blog Is About

I started this blog, not knowing exactly what I wanted to say in it, but knowing that I was going to deviate drastically enough from the types of posts I’d written on other blogs that I needed a brand new blog. I decided to go with my Twitter handle, @JypsyJBook, as the title of the blog, similarly not knowing exactly what that meant other than that it is a subtle nod to the concept of “literary journeys.”

Today I wrote to a friend of mine about this blog and tried to characterize what it’s developed into so far. I thought I’d share what I wrote because it might be interesting to follow the evolution of what this blog is truly “about.” Here’s what I said:

I wasn’t totally sure what the purpose of the blog was going to be, but currently I’d say the theme is focusing on the things that give me hope even in the darkness. I’ve been teetering on the edge of plunging into that state of darkness/depression a lot lately, but I am continually rescued from it after only a short period of time. And it’s often just by little things — a song, a brief conversation, a thought, a prayer. But I want to record these moments of hope. Often blog posts I’ve written in the past have been critical or complaining, but that doesn’t really bring much value to anyone, even if the posts do seem “intellectually interesting” to me. My biggest dream would be that someone else who is going through a period of darkness could stumble upon my blog and maybe listen to a song I posted or something, and even for just a moment feel the hope and love and peace that come from being embraced by Jesus.

Kafka's "My Destination" in Prague Frame

In keeping with the theme of discovering what my own blog is about, I also wanted to share a “literary journey” quote I recently discovered. I’d purchased a picture frame in Prague and was intending to frame a postcard of a Franz Kafka quote (he was from Prague and I loved the Kafka Museum when I was there). However, the postcard I’d gotten didn’t fit, so I decided to design a new one that was the correct size. In the process, I found this brief piece he wrote called “My Destination”:

I called for my horse to be brought from the stable. The servant did not understand me. I myself went into the stable, saddled my horse and mounted. In the distance I heard a trumpet blast. I asked him what it meant but he did not know and had not heard it. By the gate he stopped me and asked “where are you riding to sir?” I answered “away from here, away from here, always away from here. Only by doing so can I reach my destination.” “Then you know your destination” he asked. “Yes” I said “I have already said so, ‘Away-From-Here’ that is my destination.” “You have no provisions with you” he said. “I don’t need any” I said. “The journey is so long that I will die of hunger if I do not get something along the way. It is, fortunately, a truely immense journey.” (from The Kafka Project)

The seeming incongruity, but the actual harmony, between the purposeful journey and the unknown destination is also a theme of this blog. I hope you will join me in this discovery, this journey, this story called life.

Featured photo from escapeintolife.com

Goo Goo Dolls – Bulletproofangel

Have you ever had a moment when you really needed something, and you weren’t sure what it was, but then a song gave exactly that “something” to you? That’s what this song did for me this weekend. I can’t explain it, and I don’t want to. That’s the magic of music.

She hears a secret choir
That sings for me and you.
You know I don’t believe her
But I say I hear them too.