_________________________________________________________________________________
Jessica
Pearce
Tracey
Chang
English
101
7
November 2013
Learning to Love Me More
Kelsey met
Blake when he was 14 and almost like little girls, they became instant best
friends. Their graduation made two boys into four and Jeff and Seth solidified
their group. A few summers later, I struck gold when I met them. I loved them
all, but one more than the rest. Kelsey and I had the
same favorite movie, Kelsey and I could talk for hours, and Kelsey and I got
married. I found a best friend in them all, but Blake took the rest of my heart
that Kelsey hadn’t. I loved Blake. My love for Blake was not because of his pale skin and curly hair, nor his
hugs and laughter, nor because of his jokes and intellect. I loved Blake because
the first thing Kelsey ever told me about him was that Blake taught him how to
love. Jeff and Seth are amazing, but Kelsey is my husband and Blake was the
reason why.
Upon meeting my husband in 2007, we connected
through our favorite movie, Me and you
and Everyone We Know. For our first Christmas together in 2008, he gave me
a book of short stories, No One Belongs
Here More than You. In 2009, I received Learning
to Love You More, a book of projects from my secret Santa and dear friend,
Blake. Miranda July was the director, author and
Project Leader of all three of these artworks. As described by her, Learning to Love You More was something
that she and her colleague, Harrell Fletcher put together because they realized
that sometimes:
Our
most profound experiences come from following other people’s instructions. When
making crepes from a recipe, attempting to do a headstand in yoga class or
singing someone else’s song. Sometimes it seems like the moment we let go of
trying to be original, we actually find something new – which was the whole
point of being an artist in the first place (July and Fletcher i).
An
indelible impression was made on my life after receiving this book for
Christmas.
Secret Santa has become somewhat of a
tradition among my friends. Even when half way across the world, a Skype date is
set and presents are mailed so that we can bless each other with kooky and
well-thought-out gifts. Together we would sit at someone’s house after dinner
out and exchange away. It was usually a few days after Christmas and often someone
had to be there in spirit because of either family plans or geographical
hindrances. But 2009 was different. It was a special year: Blake had been
living with us temporarily, the new entry of our soon-to-be sister, Jeff’s
fiancé, Maryellen was added, and we would all be together in the same city.
Along with packing ourselves and presents in the car, Blake packed up all of
his stuff. It was sad, but exciting, as he was moving to Oregon soon for a job.
I had Maryellen, Maryellen had Kelsey,
Kelsey had Jeff, Jeff had Seth, Seth had Blake, and Blake had me. The order of
who had who is unimportant to you, but meant everything to me. One by one we
opened our present trying to guess who the culprit was. As the gifts were
unwrapped and the guesses guessed, the last present was mine. Knowing who was
left, I knew it was Blake and the excitement built. Blake was by far the best
at picking gifts and this was the first time he drew my name. I picked up my
gift and the package was flimsy and heavy… a book, but what book was it? As I
ripped off the paper and saw who the author was, I jumped up to give him a hug.
I didn’t know Miranda July was working on something new, let alone had
something already out. Laughter and conversation ensued through the night and as
the night waned, hugs were given and we left.
I went home that night and read the book
through. Seventy assignments were placed on a website and people were able to
participate by doing them and submitting them. The book was a compilation of
the assignments completed by the public. I wanted in. I decided I was going to
do them all. The website was still available to look at, but you could no
longer submit, so I started a blog. January 18, 2010, I wrote my first entry.
The assignments ranged from light to heavy and almost all of them involved help
from other people.
The first I assignment I chose was #39, Take a picture of your parents kissing.
I explained what I was doing and my parents, though they thought it was goofy,
were very supportive. We searched for a cool spot and found some giant windows
overlooking the ocean. They kissed, I snapped, and it was done. What a sense of
accomplishment I had. Later that week I
tackled #51, Explain what you want done
with your body when you die. This is what I wrote:
When I die I want my organs to be donated first
and then cremate me. No one
should ever wear black when I die, in fact wear yellow and smile, for I will be
with my maker. Please, take me dancing
under the stars and tell me your favorite memory. Bring me to where that memory was and
grab a handful of ashes. Let go. Pass
the rest of my ashes to someone else who I loved and who loved me and have them do the same thing. Repeat as many times as possible, but
make sure you leave one handful. With
this handful, I would like to be mixed with a willow tree's seeds and planted
into the ground where everyone can visit me. And
when you cry, cry into the spot of which I was planted so that you will help me
grow. Come back and see me often.
Bring your children and tell them about the things we laughed at, the things we
cried about and the times when we hugged. And smile (Pearce).
Though a bit dark, it was freeing to have written
this out and share it with my family.
Four
months had gone by and 14 assignments had been completed. Lying on the couch
next to my husband watching football, a knock sounded at the door. It was my
boss; very strange for him to show up on Sunday afternoon. Both Kelsey’s and my
phone had died and my mom was trying to get a hold of me. He gave me his phone
and I called. Hearing something about a heart attack, I panicked, dad? No.
Blake. Blake had died. I looked at Kelsey and as I repeated the words, Kelsey froze.
Our boss asked if there was anything he could do and left. We sat on the living
room floor and couldn’t say anything. When we got up to pack, Kelsey finally
spoke. He said, “He will never see my kids.”
The
next couple weeks blurred as we helped with funeral plans. One night I was
sitting at home looking at the book that Blake had given me and I read
assignment #55, Photograph a significant
outfit. I began to cry. I went to my closet to pull out the clothes that I
was wearing when I heard the news. I snapped a picture. This moment changed the
trajectory of my assignments; I went from completing these assignments to look
cool to completing these assignments to really learn to love more.
These
assignments really have taught me a lot and I’ve grown in ways that didn’t seem
possible: I usually get nervous in social situations, but these assignments
have encouraged me to branch out asking people I would not usually ask for help;
I have, despite my insecurities, posted my art publically, feeling okay regardless
of what people may think; but most of all, these assignments have gently nudged
me into being honest about things in my past that I otherwise have not or would
not share. I am still working on the assignments, even now four years later,
but one day they will be finished. I find it hard sometimes to pull from within
when my inspiration comes from Blake, but I will finish. I know he will be
proud of me because one day, I’ll finish.
Works Cited
Fletcher, Harrell, and Miranda July. Learning to Love You More. Munich: Prestel, 2007. Print.
Pearce, Jessica. "assignment #51." Learning to Love You More. Blogger, 21 Jan. 2010. Web. 30 Oct.
2013.
When I was a kid, I used to call this ship wreck (even though the ships not wrecked) and I would make up stories that I would have to climb a mountain after my ship drifted to shore. I would take my robe and put plastic spoons my pcokets (climbing tools) and I would use the tie from my robe as my "rope" to get me up the mountain.
I don't have any special memories for this one, but whenever I see it, I know that I am home.
