Why we should care about Brad and Angelina’s engagement.

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Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt at the Cannes fil...

Let’s start by saying it really shouldn’t be that important. No celebrity couple should take up this much real estate in media coverage, especially with all the events in Syria and Afghanistan and North Korea right now. Those things matter.

But.

All we’re hearing about right now is Brangelina Brangelina Brangelina.

That, by nature of the fact, is what makes their engagement important.

This morning, a friend asked the question on Facebook: Do we really care?

I understand her question completely. This moment in our culture seems trivial and shallow, but the media won’t shut up about it: He spent a year designing this chicklet engagement ring. This is America’s version of a Royal Wedding–a State wedding–the most important wedding of the new decade.

My reply to her post: It’s important in the sense that Hollywood, celebrities, and the media have a handhold on creating culture. I know you’re being facetious, but I’m a closet-observer of their relationship. I’ve been intrigued by their intent not to get married until the LGBT community has equal marital rights in every state. That is a strong statement. And so is the fact that they’re now engaged, probably because their kids are asking questions and they are telling their kids that marriage is the most important human commitment. Whether we agree or not, Brad and Angelina have quite an influence on how marriage and family are perceived in our country.

I know all this media coverage seems like hype, but it’s not. For reasons of beauty, popularity, or whatever, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are more than Hollywood’s Royal Couple. They are national influencers. This can be seen in the fact that they don’t need to hold a press conference to issue a statement on their view of marriage.

All they have to do is go out in public with a rather large engagement ring.

This is why I care. I care because America cares.

But what about you? Do you care?

The Mystery Box

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I couldn’t tell if his fast breathing was stress-induced or simply the quick-talking style of someone who is radically passionate about their message. Either way, I had to listen hard to soak up the flood of words. JJ Abrams, creator of LOST and Super 8 and many other fantastic works of film and TV, inspired me with his words about “the mystery box.”

About six minutes in, I grabbed my pen and journal: “Maybe there are times when mystery is more important than knowledge.”

Wow, J. J. I’m with you on this one.

I was one of those LOST fanatics who didn’t find the vague ending and loose strings confusing. Nope. I was okay with how things turned out and I accepted that the writers weren’t going to explain everything.

In his TED talk, J. J. described the mystery box concept as “being what you think you’re getting and what you’re really getting.” It’s the conflict of anticipation and reality. The conflict of what we think should happen and what actually happens—the classic twists and turns of a good storyline.

Our lives are mystery boxes filled with jarring twists, frustrating roadblocks, surprise endings, and unanswered questions.

Ok J. J. I also hear you saying that great stories are made of great “mystery box” moments.

And that’s what has sucked me into all of Abrams’ plot lines. I can’t resist the “mystery” of wondering what’s going to happen next. It engages and entertains me and I don’t complain about the things I don’t understand. You’d think I would have similar patience with the mystery box that is my own life.

The Discipline of Coffee

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I woke up angry when his alarm went off for his morning p90death jumping routine. Then I went back to sleep. And stayed asleep until my own designated alarm greeted me and kindly introduced me to today.

I floated gracefully into the kitchen to make coffee the Clever-Dripper way, and I let my mind fill up the space in between. We, me and my mind, returned to the angry-waking: what was that something that was rolling inside me? Not quite a fuming, but more than a frustration.

I ruled out hormones (geeze, why is that always the first option?).

I ruled out the dream, in which I was about to order a white soup with Kielbasa and leafy greens (never heard of that concoction, btw).

I ruled out other people that were a part of my yesterday.

Which means I was stuck with little ol’ me. Yep, that was it.

I was mad at myself for something I did, or actually didn’t do, yesterday. Disappointed might be a better word. Nonetheless, the light is now up and I see myself and my day with kindness, and hope for better results in the end.

The moral of the story? I never would’ve gotten to that place of kind understanding if we had an automatic coffee maker.

Yes, I’m exaggerating a bit. I’m really just lobbying for self-inflicted “slowings” in our day—those things that force us to sit and wait, or walk and think. We could use a little elbow room in our schedules, don’t you think?

Then why not give yourself some?

Are you my kid? (A day in the life of The Process.)

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I wake up every morning wondering if it’s going to be The Day we find out the names and ages of our future children.

It’s one of the most exhilarating feelings I’ve ever had—to wonder who’s lives we are going to be able to welcome into our own—knowing that they’re probably out there right now. Knowing that we could find out who they are at any moment. I tell myself that I have to go through the day like it’s normal, like this amazing incredible life-changing thing might not happen today.

Most days, we hear nothing. Some days we’re given the promise of information “coming in the near future,” and then there are days that bring real cases to consider.

Like yesterday.

I got Drew’s text around 9:30am about the email, so I ran to my MacBook and read names and ages and background history and potential needs and personality descriptives. I take a deep breath and text him back, “Wanna know more?”

I text our caseworker for more info, and then text Drew that I’m not going to try not to get excited until we hear more. Then I text my mentor and friend to let them know what’s happened.

This isn’t the first email we’ve gotten like this, so I’ve learned not to get too excited.

I decide not to think about it.

Then I read the email again and sit there and think about their names. They seem like long names for kids, so do they have nicknames? Or will I have to yell three-syllable names out the door to get them to come eat dinner?

Don’t think about it.

The phone rings. It’s my mentor. She was in the process of typing a text back to me when she thought, “Is this the kind of moment that needs a text, or something more?” Yes. This could be a big deal. Her words help me put into words how strange it is to get an email about potential children, an email that reminds me of my old job working for a realtor—how we wrote descriptions for listings. But these aren’t houses, these are children. Tiny lives. Shouldn’t the angels sing? Shouldn’t the sky open up and a beam of sunshine pour down on me and my couch and my computer? A terse email seems so … inadequate.

I get off the phone and cry a little happy/sad/jumbled cry, and wonder if this roller-coaster is why I’ve been sleeping 9 and 10 hours a night lately.

Our caseworker updates with a text. She called the county that currently has custody of these kids. Left a voicemail. Will try again this afternoon, and will let me know if she hears anything. I’m so glad she’s working so hard for children in our state.

Do I call my parents now or do I wait? I don’t know anything official yet, so let’s wait. Time to go about my day like nothing is happening.

I clean up the kitchen and think about names. I prep artwork and think about names. I get ready for work and think about names. Then I think about bicycles and bunk beds and family vacations and minivans and diapers and preschool and kindergarten. And names. Why am I so obsessed with their names?

Did I absorb everything from that email? I read it again. “foster-to-adopt family needed now.” How did I miss “now” the first time I read it? Does that mean they need to move in this weekend? How do we get everything prepared that quickly? The questions come tumbling like a waterfall, and I have to pace myself. One decision at a time. We need to get through the “if” before we deal with the “how.”

I’m late for work and my hair is wet and I’ve got a sandwich in my hand. Wheee!! I rush in and let work distract me for the afternoon. Drew is there, and we don’t talk about it but we look at each other googly-eyed.

Time moves quickly.

Around 4:30pm my caseworker sends me a very sweet and grateful text for our openness, but the county had already found placement for the children.

I text my friend to let her know. She asks if I’m relieved or disappointed. I tell her I’m relieved and I know I’m gonna sleep hard tonight.

Those kids with the long names have a home. The system is working. Things can move quickly, and it won’t be long before I wake up to the day we find out about more names—The Names.

A present present.

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I have a hard time concentrating. And I’m starting to blame it on all the multitasking and notifications and check-ins and short-frame conversations in my life via text, twitter, facebook.

Too many words flying in and out so fast that I can’t see, hear, think straight.

Do you know the feeling? The “now what was I thinking about” moments that seem to happen so often?

It makes my brain tired.

And it makes it hard for me to get a grip on life and live in a state of true awareness. Funny how information overload can be more confusing than clarifying, more disorienting that distinguishing.

To soften the blows of the Information Age, and to slow my mental pace to a level of true clarity and awareness, I’ve started using a quick self-check system during my Art Journaling process. My goal is to Practice being Present. Practice being fully in the moment, fully aware of my environment, and fully present as I review my position in the day.

This is my check-in worksheet page that I made for myself recently. In the left column, I fully engage my senses, and I write descriptives of what I’m seeing, smelling, tasting (usually coffee, yes?). And in the right column, I take stock of what I’m thinking, feeling, and doing today. It works. It helps me find my place.

I thought I’d share this “Practice Being Present” worksheet with y’all, in case any of you are feeling less-than-present these days.

Feel free to download or modify this little worksheet to find your own way to be present. (Or, for extra bonus points, share with me some ways you practice being present!)