Bragging Rights

If you know my brother Terry, you'll find this little intro funny. Not funny in the normal sense, but you know when a comedian says something more true than actually funny? That's Terry.

When I was 13 or so, Terry was home from college and listening to me rattle on about something or other. Everyone was in the kitchen cooking, listening respectfully to whatever teenage nonsense I had to say. Terry waited until I was finished and then asked very seriously, "Jamie, have you ever considered taking drama classes?"

I was taken aback. "No..."

"Because you're really dramatic," he finished.

The rest of the people in the kitchen were a little shocked at the back-handed comment, but I remember wondering if he was being honest or truly making a joke. Even then I recognized how melodramatic and over the top I could be. To this day, I honestly believe he was offering both a joke and some advice--and the teasing never really bothered me.

The other day I was freaking out about moving away from Madrid. The time had come to finally buy the one-way ticket to New York and I'd broken down crying at the little advert for Segovia in the corner of my screen. Would I ever see the Roman Aquaduct again? WAAAAAAhhhh!!! I needed something to shake me back to reality. I saw Terry online and we started to chat. Terry said a lot of bluntly helpful things, but my favorite was this: "Do you want support or advice?" Damn, this guy is good. And then he went on to ask me if I really was ready to end my adventures. HECK NO. Terry's loving wisdom keeps getting more and more poignant. I miss our long talks and his inquisitive mind.

Now, to go back in time, before the decision to move to New York was made, I had to be pushed. First, I had food poisoning. The food poisioning came just before the news that I could no longer stay in Spain--so my naturally melodramatic self was also starved of food--causing a weepy state that was borderline pathetic. On that day, I'd posted something on facebook that indicated a little understatement of a bad day. What do you know, but my other dear brother Eric happened to notice and interpret my little post on Facebook. He responded in such a sweet and encouraging way that I suspected he had spoken with Mom.... Either way, I was touched, encouraged, and duly impressed.

In the following days, Eric wrote me a few supportive emails--not only encouraging me to do what is best for me and to appreciate the crazy flexibility in my life, but also sharing a bit of his life as well. He filled me in on how much he loves being a dad and updated me on his family. No matter how busy Eric is, if he has an inkling that I'm struggling, he lets me know that he's there for me--in a phone call, email, facebook message, whatever works.

And then there are my parents. I don't know how to even begin. They support me in every adventure by believing in me, by offering me financial help, and by joyfully joining me. My desperate calls sometimes wake them up in the early mornings but they are always happy to hear from me. Mom keeps up with my incessant chatter and Dad patiently listens and offers well chosen nuggets of advice and concern. They visit me, they laugh at me, they ask all the right questions, they would come to every concert, every exhibition, every workplace, and every city I choose to call home. I am so lucky.

My "littlest" brother Mark has his own special brand of affection. Out of the blue he'll text me something to make me laugh. My favorite was: "Im in my truck on the way to a service call with both hands on the wheel munching on a crunchy granola bar out my mouth and i sneezed." I laughed so hard I cried. Every year, Sarah, Katy, and Mark pack up at least one package full of funny little gifts that make me giggle and feel loved and missed. When I come home, they make me feel like I was never gone. They're so full of imagination and fun that I can hardly believe I gave up living just a ten minute walk away from them. The first year I lived in Spain I thought of them every time I did something extraordinary and had to hold back the impulse to call them during each crazy adventure.

I have the best family in the world. Three wonderful brothers who I adore, three amazing sisters-in-law who are both friends and sisters at the same time, a niece who is so smart, talented, spunky, and beautiful that I'm a little jealous, and four hilarious and imaginative nephews that I miss playing with so much. And my two parents who are feircely supportive, blindingly loving, and whip-smart. After all the turmoil and intense planning of the past few weeks, I've been thinking a lot about how wonderful it will be to see them again.

We're stubborn as mules, heart-breakingly blunt, and ridiculously flawed, but my family is the best thing in my life. There is no way I could be a traveler, painter, teacher, musician, or mentally stable person without them. Punto.