Listen here. I don't much like this blog anymore. If I'm honest it feels dull and lack luster. I'm loving Project 50. Just not writing about it. And I just couldn't pin point why. I was at church and the pastor kept talking abou the story of the gospel unfolding. He kept saying story. And Then I understood. I've been writing about it like its a list of things to be done. A progress report. I love lists. I find them very satisfying. But this is not a list. Its a story. My story. The every day details and grand ideas of my life. The narrative is what is missing. So let me start again. Let me tell you my story.
It started in the 8th grade. Miss Williams public speaking class at Dillingham Middle school. I hadn't meant to take the class and don't know for sure how I ended up there. But I remember the first time I connected with an audience. I was giving a speech about funny things that happen when I babysit. I hadn't thought people would respond so well. I never knew I was funny. But kids were literally falling out of there chairs laughing. A few days later someone I didn't know stopped me in the library and asked me if I was that speech girl who told funny stories. And I was off and running. Over the years I have had the chance to speak in public many times on a variety of topics. Some times I have absolutely flopped. Nobody was picking up what I was laying down. Maybe it was a topic I didn't know enough about. Or maybe something the audience was not interested in. These times keep me humble. We all need humility in our lives. Failure is a part of learning. I always start out thinking how did I get myself into this? I wish I had not said yes. But then I start to talk and it is magic. The connection that I make with people feeds my soul. The stories that people come up and tell me when I'm done. The people who encourage me and tell me how much they enjoyed listening to me. This is the spark that makes me love public speaking. There are a few things in this world that I know in my soul I was made to do. I hear it whispered to me in the twilight between waking and sleeping. Speak. Write. You were made to do this. So when I started watching TED talks I knew someday in some venue I would be doing this. Ideas worth sharing. I have ideas. I watched my heroes Dr. Nadine Burke Harris and Brene' Brown speak so passionately about things that stir my soul and I knew in my bones that I should pursue this idea. The problem was I could just never pin point the right topic. I have spoken about foster parenting, adverse childhood experiences, child development, resilience, home visiting and a variety of other topics. None of them were right for this. I applied to give a TEDX talk last year and was turned down because my topic was to broad. But I finally have an idea. An idea worth sharing. I am going to apply again this summer and I am going to apply for a national TED talk fellowship later next year. Maybe I don't get picked. But maybe I do. A guest speaker at our church once preached a sermon and pretty much the only thing I remember from the whole thing is that is dad always told him the only fail is a no try. So I'm going to keep trying until its right. What would you do if you knew you couldn't fail?
We were finishing up dinner and Christopher brought up the question again. "When are you going to get a boyfriend?" This need for me to be paired up ran deep for him. It had been five years since his father and I had divorced. His dad had girlfriends. He had even been engaged. But here I sat uncoupled. So on the spot I playfully made up a name. Pulled it out of thin air. I was lying. He knew I was playing. Just lightening the mood. "I have a boyfriend!" I declared "His name is Carl Jensen." He paused and studied my face. "Nuh uh. you do not! Show me his profile on Facebook. It happened to be the profile of a dog puppet named Carl Jensen. He went to Cheese university in Ho Chi Minh and he worked for the post office. Perfect. We all busted out laughing. But I insisted that Carl Jensen was my boy friend. "No way! He is a puppet!" They insisted. Over the years Carl Jensen has become a house hold name. When I, briefly, got a real boy friend the kids couldn't wait to come at me with comments like "What about Carl? He's going to be so mad" and When it didn't work out. "At least you will always have Carl." One day we started talking about all the Carl Jensens in the world. How does your name influence who you turn out to be? How were they the same and different. Michael dared me to send friend requests to as many Carl Jensens as I could find on Face book. Challenge accepted. I friend requested so many people on Facebook named Carl Jensen that Facebook had to remind me only to send friend requests to people I know. Out of all of those Carls I got three new Facebook friends. And thus the Carl Jensen project was born. Wouldn't it be neat to send letters to as many people named Carl Jensen as I could find? I love writing letters and I love hearing peoples stories. So I got on the internet and looked on the white pages. There are a lot of people named Carl Jensen. So I decided only to focus on the ones spelled Carl Jensen. No Karl with a k. No Jenson with an o. I started with ten addresses. Then I waited because there is no way to say hi I'm a stranger but I'm not crazy. I am just curious about you and what your life is like. I promise I'm not a stalker. Finally I just did it. I wrote my first clumsy awkward letter to a Carl in RuthHaven, Iowa. I stamped it and threw it in the mail. That same day I noticed that the Carl whose name I picked from literally hundreds of Carl Jensens was one of my three Face book friends named Carl Jensen. What are the odds. And Carl, if you are reading this now I am really not a crazy stalker lady. I'm just curious and interested in people and how they are different and alike and what their story is. Next week I will write another Carl letter and we will see what becomes of this project.
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