Category: goals

Back In The Game

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Life activated me from the 33-day injured list (IL), and I’m back on the roster!

I took a BREAK from posting, pun intended, because I followed my doctor’s orders that I should not use a computer. As of yesterday, I am no longer banished from keyboards and can share what happened:

I fell flat on my face and went down hard before I even knew what was happening.

It’s as simple as that.

I must have instinctively brought my arms in front of my face to brace myself, and the nearest I can figure, both of my elbows and my left knee hit the floor, followed by my whole body hitting the ground.

I laid there for a few minutes in shock, unable to move or call for help because the jolt knocked the wind out of me. Eventually, I mustered the ability to flip myself from my stomach to sit, then a coworker came upon me in the middle of the hallway floor, dazed and confused. 

My knee was fine, but I ended up with two fractured elbows and in a crap ton of pain.   

The first ten days were the worst. Every muscle in my body hurt from the fall’s blow, and the pain in my arms throbbed while radiating like electricity up and down from my fingertips through my shoulders.

The good news is that I did not require hard casts or surgery.

Rather, I sported two stylish slings, the likes of which might make Michael Kors drool with envy, and a fancy, black brace on my right wrist. The wrist brace kept me from straining the right elbow, which had the worse of the two fractures.

I’m thankful each fracture is healing on its own, seemingly without any long-term mobility issues or spurring any sort of Lupus flares. I’ve been cleared to return to work and to normal activities, and I’ll follow my orthopedist’s advice that while movement will help the healing process, I should take care to not overdo it.

During recovery, I kept a mental list of all the things I was grateful for the ability to do that I formerly took for granted (click here to read that list).

I also realized that while I now may be labeled a fall risk, life is for living, not for sitting around. 

Life can surely change in an instant, but I’ll take the risks in living, and in falling.

Ironically, while healing, I heard Buddy Guy’s new song titled “Blues Don’t Lie” from his new album with the same name. The song begins: “Life is gonna happen whether you’re ready or not…”

Ain’t that the truth.

Life never waits for me to be ready. It pitches at me constantly, sometimes with direct hits, other times with near misses. 

So, why should I wait to live it, since it’s throwing at me, anyway? 

I will rise when I fall.

I will survive when I fear.

I will smile when I cry.

I will remember with love when I grieve.

I will learn and improve when I falter or fail, and celebrate both the lessons and the successes.

And throughout it all, I will shine my light in hopes of sparking the light in others.

Life is short, and I have nothing to fear.

It’s go time, and I’m back at home plate, ready to swing.

Batter up!

Thank you for joining me on my journey. I’m glad you’re here.

With light and gratitude,

Jill

“Back In The Game” was posted on jillocone.com on February 8, 2023. Views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the writer, who was not endorsed or compensated in any manner by any entity; views do not represent any of my employers. Copyright 2023, Jill Ocone. All rights reserved. Contact jillocone@gmail.com with reposting, licensing, and publishing inquiries.

2023 #WriterWednesday Week 01: ME in ‘23

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Welcome, 2023! I’ve set the intention to follow the example set by some of my favorite writers by honoring their tradition of #WriterWednesday and posting each Wednesday during 2023, and today marks my first post. 

In setting this intention, I am also allowing myself grace and forgiveness if I miss a week.

My word for 2023 is ME. 

Sorry, not sorry if that comes across as brazenly selfish, but as someone who typically puts the needs of others before mine, it is time for me to focus on MY social, emotional, physical, and mental well-being. Prioritizing my needs does not mean I am abandoning my core values of compassion, empathy, and kindness, nor do I plan to shirk my responsibilities.

I want to feel alive and energized instead of drained and depleted. 

Moving forward, when I face a task or a request that causes any sort of dismay in my soul or in my heart, my answer will be NO.

No, thank you. My needs come first. 

ME in ‘23.

In early December, I received a request from a small publisher for my completed novel’s manuscript with a deadline of January 1. I toiled all month, formatting it as they requested and ensuring it is the best it can be. At 10:12 am on December 29, 2022, with my heart full of love, light and hope, I emailed my full “Chapter One-A Novel” manuscript to the editor. I am manifesting positivity and goodness as I believe wholeheartedly the editor will select it for  publication. 

ME in ‘23.

My spring Jersey Shore Magazine assignments always accompany January’s arrival, so in between writing at least 150-words each morning for either posts or my next novel (tentatively titled “John Doe”), I intend to make progress each day towards those assignments. 

ME in ‘23.

After four years of living in limbo while also living through a pandemic, 2023’s arrival also heralded in a new chapter for my husband and I as we spent our first night at our old address in our new home as the calendar flipped its page. In “Avengers: Endgame,” Tony Stark said, “Part of the journey is the end,” and leaving our temporary place filled me with emotions I did not expect. I will take the comfort and the lessons that fueled my strength along the long and winding course to this moment and fill our new home with love and laughter while continuing to emulate my uncle’s example of being a good person. I am especially looking forward to celebrating life, especially my birthday next month, in our new home and surrounded by the people I love.

ME in ‘23.

I want to spend more time in nature this year, take more walks, see more sunsets and new places, and laugh alongside those I cherish more this year. And come the end of December, when I look back on 2023, I know I will say, “Man, this has been a great year.”

ME in ‘23.

Thank you for joining me on my journey. I’m glad you’re here.

With light and gratitude,

Jill

“2023 #WriterWednesday Week 01: ME in ‘23” was posted on jillocone.com on January 4, 2023. Views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the writer, who was not endorsed or compensated in any manner by any entity; views do not represent any of my employers. Copyright 2023, Jill Ocone. All rights reserved. Contact jillocone@gmail.com with reposting, licensing, and publishing inquiries.

Angling With My Query

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I experienced its first visions eight years ago, and my life has never been the same since. 

My eight-year voyage on Chapter One-A Novel’s waters has been full of ups and downs and I’ve been sailing by writing through calm currents and tempest-fueled tides. Along its course, I’ve had to search for meaning in unexpected places and destined coincidences, make tough decisions about what path to follow, and wade through seas teeming with ghoulies and doubt. 

But now I stand firm on the shore with the finished manuscript of Chapter One-A Novel gleaming in my hands.

I know you’ve heard such proclamations in the past, but I assure you I am not crying “wolf” this time. 

This version is the real deal, and I am announcing it out loud and proud to the universe: CHAPTER ONE IS DONE.

To borrow one of the novel’s themes and visions, I have written Chapter One, so everything will fall into place as it stands steadfast as an intriguing work of fiction in its own right.

The novel, MY novel, is done, but my journey is just beginning.

I have reentered the tidepool of the publishing world by seeking representation and/or publication by dangling my authentic and heartfelt query letter addressed to agents and publishing houses as bait. No nibbles yet, but I know the universe will lure the right opportunity to bite my hook, which reads as follows:

Kelly Lynch navigates the ebb and flow of life’s tides on her fortuitous journey of self-discovery in my approximately 64,000-word novel titled Chapter One-A Novel.

As Waterville High School’s newest English teacher, Kelly Lynch befriends fellow educator and James Joyce enthusiast Shannon Moran. While Kelly grapples with deep scars from her past, she struggles to balance her active life as a teacher and her stagnant marriage to shiftless alcoholic Wayne Coopersmith. Shannon’s encouragement resurrects Kelly’s innate fervor for writing, while Kelly inspires Shannon to pursue her lifelong dream of studying in Dublin, Ireland.

A double-dose of tragedy fractures Kelly’s life, and in the aftermath, she throws caution to the wind and follows the mysterious path of breadcrumbs scattered by the universe from coastal New Jersey to the grandeur of Dublin.

Chance unites Kelly with Jame Flaherty, a Dubliner who guides her along the footprints left by Joyce and his characters while sparking a raging inferno inside her heart. Her experiences on the Emerald Isle hearten a keen awareness of the present moment’s tremendous value and fortify Kelly’s awakening. Upon returning to the Jersey Shore, she begins her next Chapter One anew by pursuing her calling as a writer.

Kelly’s profoundly moving story of enduring the waves spurred by the tribulations and the triumphs of the past, the present, and the future while searching for a sense of purpose in the face of grief will resonate with readers long after they turn the last page.

Please keep in mind I am the author and not the main character of Chapter One – A Novel, which is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either products of my imagination or used fictitiously. 

In between querying and making progress on my assignments for Jersey Shore Magazine’s Fall/Holiday 2022 issue, I am already working on my next writing project. Stay tuned for updates, because I intend to be more active with sharing my ideas and my writing life right here on the blog.

Spoiler: I’ve hidden a few Easter eggs about my future project(s) within this post’s words.

Thank you for joining me on my journey. I’m glad you’re here.

With love and gratitude,

Jill

“Angling With My Query” was posted on jillocone.com on July 4, 2022. Views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the writer, who was not endorsed or compensated in any manner by any entity; views do not represent any of my employers. Copyright 2022, Jill Ocone. All rights reserved. Contact jillocone@gmail.com with reposting, licensing, and publishing inquiries.

Smashing the Boulder

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I’ve been battling an unnecessary existential crisis, one of the many free gifts bestowed upon humans like me who are authentically human.

What began as nuisance funks the size of small pebbles rapidly combined to create one giant, overwhelming boulder. 

Innumerable legs, each with a different origin, protrude from this particular boulder, and they have been kicking me nonstop from every direction while the boulder’s crushing weight has squashed my sense of purpose. My futile attempts to defend myself or fight back provoke a harder and faster pummeling, and I end up reduced to a steaming pile of doubt and defeat.

The debilitating boulder, however, has now rolled into sacred soul territory by triggering a case of the summertime blues. 

I’ve waited all year for these two glorious months, dammit, and today, I wallow no more.

The only way around it is through it. 

As I crawl forward on my elbows, the megalith’s tentacles slightly loosen their grip around my ankles.  

Inch by inch, I will escape the squidmonster of stone’s grasp, then smash it to pieces. 

I will rise and stand victorious within its ruins, and my light will shine brighter than ever.

Thank you for joining me on my journey. I’m glad you’re here.

With love and gratitude,

Jill

“Smashing the Boulder” was posted on jillocone.com on July 1, 2022. Views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the writer, who was not endorsed or compensated in any manner by any entity; views do not represent any of my employers. Copyright 2022, Jill Ocone. All rights reserved. Contact jillocone@gmail.com with reposting, licensing, and publishing inquiries.

The Value of a Soul

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One of my students recently asked me if I would sell my soul for $50 million. 

I emphatically replied, “No, I most definitely would not.” 

They gasped wide-eyed, “But it’s FIFTY million dollars! You could buy anything you wanted!”

“My soul is worth far more to me than money,” I answered. “It’s not for sale at any price.”

“I’d sell mine! I need the money!”

“Do you know what kind of life you’d have afterwards?” I questioned.

“A rich one.”

“But another entity or person would own you and dictate your every move. You wouldn’t be YOU anymore, you’d be the pawn of someone or something else and your life as you know it would cease to exist.”

“That’s ok by me! My soul, it’s nothing, but money, money is everything!”

Our exchange left me disheartened, and I am struggling to find a way to show this student the immense value of their soul before our time together ends in a few short weeks. I’m even more disillusioned at realizing this is certainly not the only student in my classroom who believes his or her soul has no value.

As both a teacher and a lightworker, it is tremendously difficult to relate to such a mindset when my soul suggests I help when I can and to build someone up instead of tearing them down. I cannot grasp our culture’s ever-growing glorification of jackassery and shaming over compassion and empathy, nor the empty value placed upon “likes,” “followers,” and “influencers” who are driven by the almighty dollar instead of altruism.  

But this is what our world has become and the world our young people are growing up in.

What is another way my soul can model kindness and generosity when the mantra I repeatedly hear is, “What’s in it for me?”

How can I empower others, especially young people, in a society where perseverance or trying one’s best in the classroom are seen as detriments and the benefits from personal accountability and learning from failure are no longer revered? 

I’m sharing this with you today because I am confident that by putting it out there, I will attract a way to help my students be freed from the shackles of societal expectations and ego, and instead, spark their light so they can appreciate even a sliver of both their enormous potential and the abundant value of their souls.

I’m not giving up on any of them, for each has a uniquely vital and valuable light to shine in our world.

Please note that I intentionally used the pronouns “they” and “their” for confidentiality reasons. Thank you for joining me on my journey. I’m glad you’re here.

With love and gratitude,

Jill

“The Value of a Soul” was posted on jillocone.com on January 23, 2022. Views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the writer, who was not endorsed or compensated in any manner by any entity; views do not represent any employer. Copyright 2022, Jill Ocone. All rights reserved. Contact jillocone@gmail.com with reposting, licensing, and publishing inquiries.

Letting The Light In

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I’ve been writing little snippets of recollections on sticky notes all week long as I planned to post today about reaching the pandemic’s year milestone.

Yesterday, I threw them all into the trash bin.

Thinking about this time last year, as things rapidly developed and our lives changed minute by minute and the overwhelming fear that crippled me….well, it actually made me shudder with anxiety.

Instead of rehashing the traumatic truth about where we used to be and how we got here, I am celebrating the light that has entered through the cracks over the past year, cracks that were formally invisible to my eyes. 

Do I like our current situation? Absolutely not.

Do I miss everything that’s currently on hold? More than anything.

Did I think we’d return to “normal” by now? Of course I did. 

But over the past year, I realized that “normal” does not exist, nor does a “new normal,” which is one of the worst phrases to come out of this year-long reality.

The light, though…

Sun’s First Light – Taken September 2020

The light shines on the goodness that surrounds me, goodness I was formerly too blind to notice. 

The light beams on the moments I can safely spend in the company of loved ones and friends, and those moments have more meaning today than they ever have. The light will eventually beam and create more opportunities to make wonderful memories.

The light glistens on my watch and my planner to highlight the value of my time, and I’ve learned to decline requests for my time that do not enhance my well-being or serve my purpose.

The light coaxes the words out of my soul and onto my journal or my screen. Instead of fighting those words and holding them back, they flow and release me from my self-deprecating prison. Some are crap, and some aren’t, and I’m taking those that aren’t and creating what I hope helps others to know they aren’t alone.

The light brightens the sound of laughter coming from those I love most.

The light illuminates my purpose and my passion, and has allowed me to see meaning in and understand my journey here on Earth so far, especially the hardest times, the most difficult of days, and the failures and rejections. The light also illuminates a clear path to my future that’s full of experiences I want to have and dreams I will make happen. I’ll be sharing those experiences and dreams with you soon.

The light flashed on a vaccine opportunity that I originally believed was not an option for me because of my medical issues and led me to said opportunity with a smooth experience and limited side effects. My desire to have a life outweighs my aversion to the vaccine, and while my choice is right for me, I respect it might not be right for you.

The light radiates on my gratitude for those who have gone above and beyond to help us all and on my resolve to celebrate the lives of those who we’ve lost to this horrible illness.

The universe works in very mysterious ways. I know she guides me with breadcrumbs, most of which validate that I am in the right place at the right time and doing what I need to be doing at that moment. Case in point: when I sat down this morning to write this post, I put my music on shuffle. The first song to play was “Namaste” by Beastie Boys. A sampling of the lyrics:

…A cold chill of fear cut through me

I felt my heart contract

To my mind I brought the image of light

And I expanded out of it

My fear was just a shadow

And then I voice spoke in my head

And she said dark is not the opposite of light

It’s the absence of light

And I thought to myself

She knows what she’s talking about

And for a moment I know

What it was all about.

Songwriters: Horovitz Adam Keefe / Diamond Michael Louis / Yauch Adam Nathaniel / Nishita Mark Ramos. Namasté lyrics © Brooklyn Dust Music, Polygram Int. Publishing, Inc.

I know what it was all about.

As I said earlier, normal doesn’t exist. What does exist is change: Routines change. Circumstances change. Expectations change. Opportunities change. Schedules change. People change. Persevering while adapting to change is essential to survival.

I also exist, as does my purpose, and what hasn’t changed is my authentic desire to thrive despite change and to strive for my words to speak to others.

The fresh air and sunshine, the clouds and the snow, the singing birds, the ocean’s rollers and mountain’s peaks, and all of nature’s miracles, are still here a year later. They always have been, and they always will be if we allow the light in through the cracks.

And someday, we’ll be able to look back on all of this and celebrate our collective strength and victory over the pandemic with joyous light and fireworks, but you don’t have to wait that long…

Today, celebrate your light. Celebrate your perseverance. Celebrate your life. Celebrate you.

____________________________________________________________________________

Thanks for joining me on my journey. I’m glad you’re here.

With gratitude,

Jill

“Letting The Light In” was posted on jillocone.com and on soulseaker.com on March 14, 2021. Views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the writer, who was not endorsed or compensated in any manner by any entity; views do not represent any employer. Copyright 2021, Jill Ocone. All rights reserved. Contact jillocone@gmail.com with reposting, licensing, and publishing inquiries

Marching Onward, With My Heart at the Forefront

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Logo Color RedI slept until 6:45 AM this morning, although, in reality, it was 5:45 AM and the time I normally wake up. When you’re an early riser like me, March’s time change is of no consequence in the morning, although my eyelids will probably become heavy before the sun has completely gone to bed for the night until I adjust to the change.

An extra hour of sunlight at the back-end of the day. It’s one of my favorite harbingers of spring, along with dancing to the song of the spring peeper frogs as I waltz into school, which I did on Friday morning.

Even though it’s still technically winter, March has come in like a lamb along the Jersey Shore, and I’ll take it.

There’s always the possibility that a seemingly calm March can turn into a lion on a dime with Jack Frost busting in and riding that lion like a rodeo cowboy. However, the best thing about a March snowstorm is that it melts rather quickly.

Snow or no snow, light or dark, sunshine or rain, I’m all aquiver today.

Despite my best efforts and attempts to keep a positive outlook, the first two months of 2020 were emotionally difficult for me.

I dug out of the funk by adopting a new mindset: I dedicated myself to ME. Making myself the top priority in my life, along with incorporating lifestyle changes such as a regular and honest journaling practice, daily meditation, and yoga, has resulted in an awakening of massive proportions.

I’m experiencing life with a whole new level of awareness, one I never knew existed before, and it’s freaking amazing. I’ve got a new bounce in my step and a ridiculously stupid grin on my face as my heart now matters most.

My heart is simultaneously content and thrilled about the limitless possibilities that lie ahead of me, and my soul joyfully celebrates alongside my heart in camaraderie and sheer bliss.

I am now enlightened with a vision that will allow me to use my gifts and talents to serve others while as I follow the breadcrumbs I encounter along my path, ones I now see with absolute clarity.

Finally, I’ve found my dharma.

I am wholeheartedly devoting myself to my vision as I create it and give it life. As such, I’m looking for a few educators who would be willing to serve as beta-testers of my idea during the month of April. Should you be interested, please shoot me an email with your name, school name, and grade/subject you teach to jillocone@gmail.com.

Out of three ideas I have in my hopper, this particular vision will enact positive changes in the lives of fellow educators through leadership, support and encouragement, and if it proceeds as I envision, it will also shift the course of my future for the better.

I have a vision.

I have a plan.

I have a goal.

I have a purpose.

I am productive and focused.

And throughout it all, my heart will matter the most, as should yours.

cropped-img_0764 Thanks for joining me on my journey. I’m glad you’re here.

With gratitude,

Jill

“Marching Onward, With My Heart at the Forefront” was posted on jillocone.com and on soulseaker.com on March 8, 2020. Views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the writer, who was not compensated in any way by any entity. Copyright 2020, Jill Ocone. All rights reserved.

Endings Are Beginnings Are Endings And So On…

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20160314-blog-photo-new-fonts-use“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” – Seneca, also quoted in “Closing Time” by Semisonic

Today is December 28, 2019.

It’s the end of the month, the end of the year, and (gasp), the end of the decade.

Boy is that a mouthful!

As the clock’s hands tick forward to time’s trifecta of the beginning of a new month, a new year, and (gasp), a new decade, I’m straying from the trend of making insert-appropriate-ending-here reflections and listing insert-appropriate-ending-here accomplishments that ultimately do nothing more than feed my ego.

Likewise, I’ve lived long enough to realize that resolutions are nothing more than lip service, so I’m not going to waste my time setting myself up for future disappointment by making empty resolutions just because that’s what society expects of me.

Instead, I’m approaching 2020 with practicality, honesty, and authenticity as it will be a year of enlightening discovery.

My word for 2020 is “becoming” and it’s just deliciously exhilarating knowing I am evolving into both the person and the writer I’m meant to be. As I approach 50, I am still getting to know myself as I continue to learn and grow.

As such, I have selected five projects to complete in 2020 which will help me become just that person and that writer, and each project will serve my fellow humans in some way, shape, or form. More details about each project are forthcoming and I sure am glad you’ll be accompanying me on my journey.

My intention for 2020 is to live every day better than its yesterday, no matter where I might be or what is on my planner for the day while honoring my core values of kindness, generosity, and compassion. I will help when I can and endure when I must.

“Becoming” is certainly fluid and I am eager to chart my course and explore the compass of me.

May the new month, the new year, and the new decade lead you to YOU with an abundance of health, happiness, and joy.

cropped-img_0764 Thanks for joining me on my journey. I’m glad you’re here.

With gratitude,

Jill

“Endings Are Beginnings Are Endings And So On…” was posted on jillocone.com  and on soulseaker.com on December 28, 2019. Views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the writer who was not compensated in any way by any entity. Copyright 2019, Jill Ocone. All rights reserved. Contact jillocone@gmail.com with licensing and publishing inquiries.

A New Hope, Indeed

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opening_crawlI’m in full preparation mode for Thursday, which includes purchasing as much Kleenex stock as possible and buying tissues by the boxful.

That evening will culminate 42 out of my 48 years here on earth, and I’m not being melodramatic in the slightest.

As a little girl in the 1970s, I wasn’t a tomboy, but I also wasn’t a “girlie girl.”

I fell in the middle, a misfit of sorts, and always sympathized with those toys relegated to the Island of Misfit Toys in the classic “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” especially the polka-dotted elephant.

Toy options for little girls like me in the 1970s included various models of Barbie dolls including Cher and Farrah Fawcett, Shrinky Dinks, Easy Bake Oven, paper dolls, Holly Hobbie, Fashion Plates, Spirograph, and baby dolls.

While the Spirograph and Shrinky Dinks were okay, the rest?

No, thank you.

My little brother, on the other hand, always received the coolest toys for Christmas and his birthday, so I played with them instead.

I spent hours creating highways out of the plastic, orange track that my brother’s die-cast cars could take back and forth to work or use to race their nemeses. I took pleasure in building cities and creatures out of his collection of hard, plastic interlocking blocks in all shades of primary colors. I could pretend and use my imagination to create stories that didn’t have females conforming to the societal stereotypes of the era when I played with toys marketed to boys.

Especially in 1977.

That’s the year when my beloved uncle and grandfather took my brother and I to the movies to see some two-hour-long space-type flick that was all the rage.

I was six years old, and I remember it.

My brother was two, and he remembers it.

The characters and vehicles and lands from this so-called “space opera” were top-billed requests on letters addressed to Santa from all over the country that year, and believe you me, I raided my brother’s treasure trove of vehicles and figures from said “space opera” every chance I got.

That blockbuster movie, known today as Star Wars: A New Hope, has coursed through my veins for 42+ years and positively impacted my life in several ways.

At first glance, many are surprised that this blonde-haired, blue-eyed beach-loving writer and educator has had Jedi dreams and a desire to join the rebel alliance surging through her blood since childhood. I am not ashamed about my love of Star Wars, which began the minute I first heard the London Symphony Orchestra blare the main title while I read the quintessential opening crawler announcing that it was a period of civil war and that “rebel spaceships, striking from a hidden base, have won their first victory against the evil Galactic Empire.”

Star Wars was deliciously different and provided me with a new way of seeing things. It was the first time I was exposed to a strong woman who wasn’t being molded into a future wife or mother. Leia was a princess, that’s true, but she had a purpose much greater than her title. She wasn’t searching for a prince or seeking admiration. Instead, she was fighting for a cause she believed in with fierce determination and ultimate fearlessness.

Leia was my inspiration, and I adored her.

I still do, now more than ever.

Star Wars offered me new hope at an age when I so needed it.

And it wasn’t just Leia.

I loved all of the characters and their idiosyncrasies. This most interesting band of misfits and their missions transported me to exciting worlds as they defended their cause with 100% effort and dedication for what they believed was the greater good.

And Boba Fett is the baddest-ass misfit mercenary ever to travel to the Outer Rim and beyond. He’s got swagger and an aura of cunning dauntlessness, and is the coolest cat I’ve ever seen on the big screen.

Star Wars lands like Tatooine, Hoth, Bespin, Endor, and Yavin 4 were so different from the other lands of suburbanite make-believe I was exposed to as a child. Who would have ever thought that now, thanks to the magic of Disney Imagineers, I can actually board and ride the Millennium Falcon and walk through lands inspired by those in the Star Wars franchise two- score-and-two-years after seeing them on the big screen for the first time? Shameless plug here for Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge, which is out of this world, pun intended, and Shangri-La for the millions of people like me who have Star Wars in their bloodline.

Three trilogies with nine movies and two spinoffs spanning 40+ years in both space time and reality… I’ve loved every single one of them.

Let me loudly repeat that for the fanboys in the back: I unconditionally loved every single movie.

Now, the saga featuring the story of the Skywalker lineage is ending with the ninth installment, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, which premiers on Thursday night.

Sure, there will be new Star Wars series and films in the future, especially on Disney+, but THIS saga, the Skywalker three-three-three trilogies, has reached its end.

This saga’s threads spans generations and have run deep through my life tapestry inspiring me, exciting me, and providing me with a sense of acceptance and a love of story I might never have found otherwise.

More importantly, this saga has provided me with hope, time and time again, and I’m eternally grateful for its lessons.

Carrie Fisher taught me to follow my heart and age authentically, that it’s okay to be broken, and honest writing can be therapeutic. George Lucas taught me to write what my soul tells me to write in spite of the naysayers. Princess Leia taught me to be a strong and independent woman while fighting for what’s right, and also that I never have to conform to society’s norms. Han Solo taught me that scoundrels aren’t all that bad. Luke Skywalker taught me to believe in what I cannot see. Chewbacca taught me the value of friendship. C3PO taught me the importance of wisdom. Anakin Skywalker taught me the perils of giving into darkness. Darth Vader taught me that family ultimately comes first. Padme Amidala taught me to serve when I can. Lando Calrissian taught me to let bygones be bygones. The Emperor taught me the importance of balancing the dark with the light. R2D2 and BB8 taught me to keep rolling when things get difficult. Kylo Ren taught me to focus on the lesson instead of the outcome. Finn taught me that anyone can be a hero. Poe Dameron taught me the importance of teamwork but to recognize when it’s time to work alone. Rey taught me to seek my destiny and to believe in my journey, no matter where it takes me. Obi-Wan Kenobi taught me to trust the Force because it will always guide me in the right direction.

Boba Fett taught me that there’s nothing cooler than being a bad-ass misfit, and to answer requests made of me with, “As you wish.”

Finally, Yoda taught me to do instead of try, and that there’s a time for everything to end.

And, so it is.

If you see me on Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker’s opening night bawling like a baby, it most definitely isn’t only because of what happens in the storyline, not that I know anything that’s going to happen, mind you.

Those heartfelt tears will be flowing because the curtains will have closed on a very special part of my life as the double suns set for the final time while the credits scroll among the stars.

Cue the John Edwards fanfare.

The force will be with you.

Always.

cropped-img_0764 Thanks for joining me on my journey. I’m glad you’re here.

With gratitude,

Jill

“A New Hope, Indeed” was posted on jillocone.com  and on soulseaker.com on December 14, 2019. Views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the writer who was not compensated in any way by any entity. Copyright 2019, Jill Ocone. All rights reserved. Contact jillocone@gmail.com with licensing and publishing inquiries.

The Treasures of Kid-hood

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My husband and I are moving, and we’ve got two more days until we have to be out of our house. It’s hot, he’s sick, and my muscles are screaming as they sporadically stiffen and cramp up.

Those who have moved know just how much the process of boxing up your life SUCKS, and when you’ve got an attic like mine, it SUCKS times INFINITY.

My attic has been a catch-all for an almost half-century of life that wouldn’t fit within four ten-by-ten rooms over the last 20+ years. In fact, every classroom I’ve ever taught in has been bigger than the living space of my house, which is one of the many reasons a backhoe will work overtime later this summer to demolish the house as we begin a new chapter.

But, the attic…

Or should I say, the Post-Apocalypse of 2019….

What a nightmare.

I like to save things. I like little toys. I like scrapbooks. And I like to write.

As such, I knew there were four or five boxes and my old footlocker full of such relics I had to rescue from the attic’s abyss. I also knew those boxes and footlocker were buried deep from throwing things up there that we just didn’t have room for with such a small living space, or things we wanted to hold on to “just in case.” Year after year, I intended to attack the attack during my summer off, but the attic was so far gone and the task was too daunting because I didn’t know where to start.

So I didn’t start at all.

Smart move on my part.

Since the spring, I’ve made small progress with packing here and there, but with the timer ticking double-time towards the “have to be out” day, I now had no choice but to fire up the fan and ascend the stairs into hot, steamy hell to do battle.

Ascending into hell…shouldn’t that be the other way around?

Anyway, yesterday was the second full day of my onslaught as I fought my way through boxes of outdated kitchen tools and old college syllabi and bags of clothes labeled as “too small but I might fit in them again someday.” Who was I kidding, holding onto that pipe dream?

Anyway, I dug deep into the mountain formed by life, and a few hours later…pay dirt!

My memory boxes and footlocker.

I precariously carried each one down the rickety, pull-down stairs while a steady stream of sweat dripped from my forehead like a faucet.

I intended to put everything right into the “this goes to the storage unit” pile and continue my assault on hell upstairs.

However, if I was a cat, I’d be dead right now from curiosity.

The packing tape from one of the late 1980s Tops paper boxes had lost its stick, probably eons ago, and the corner of the box was open just enough for me to glimpse a small part of a red tote bag with a rainbow on it.

I remembered that rainbow bag. I got it in 4th grade from the local Hallmark store. And I also knew what was inside it.

img_5980I slowly opened the cardboard flaps, removed the rainbow bag, and took out five binders of stickers.

And I mean STICKERS!!!!

Hundreds of scratch-and-sniff that collectively lost their scents, Pac-Man stickers that lost their stick and flew out all over the place, prism and puffy stickers, Garbage Pail, Shirt Tales, and Lisa Frank stickers … you name it, even issues of the failed magazine aptly called Stickers.

My heart’s desire to see more overpowered my mind’s common sense to obey the ticking clock. I img_5981removed the scrapbook under the rainbow bag and slowly opened its now-cracked and partially disintegrated cover. Inside was my kid-dom: letters from pen-pals and cousins written during the late 1970s, invitations to classmates’ birthday parties (which I took pictures of and shared with them on social media), an old newspaper clipping of neighborhood friends playing with a hose on a warm, summer day in 1980, boarding passes from an Eastern Airlines flight to Tampa with two unused child Key tickets from Walt Disney World.

[Sidebar: It’s fitting that I’m listening to the Sirius-XM Yacht Rock channel as I write this, “Hey Nineteen” by Steely Dan just segued to “Cool Change” by Little River Band.]

I carefully turned the aged page to reveal a momentous page from my life, pun intended: the concert tickets and program to my first concert EVER.

Hold on to your hat, friend…

The Date: August 18, 1979

The Venue: Garden State Arts Center, Holmdel, NJ (now known as PNC Bank Arts Center)

The Artist: SHAUN CASSIDY

img_5944This was a time when CHiPs and The Love Boat were my favorite television shows and stars like Shaun Cassidy, Scott Baio, and Leif Garrett graced the covers of Tiger Beat magazine.

And I loved Shaun Cassidy, I think because he used my name in his remake of “Da Doo Ron Ron” instead of Bill.

Before the concert, my mother took me out to dinner at the Old Mill Inn, my choice. After seeing an advertisement for the restaurant in the local newspaper (yes, I read the newspaper just about every day once I could read), my 8-year-old self thought the Old Mill Inn the perfect place for dinner before a swanky, grown-up concert.  At the concert itself, I listened to each song and politely clapped my hands after each one while sitting in my seat. Screaming teenage girls surrounded me, and my mom told me I could stand and scream too if I wanted.

I didn’t want to. Instead, I sat and applauded because the idea of standing and screaming made me uncomfortable.

Why?

I don’t know, but I probably would do the same thing today. I’m accepting input from armchair therapists on that one, so feel free to send along your diagnosis.

img_5983I took a quick look through the remaining boxes and my footlocker. My husband peeked in and laughed at the little toys, the stickers, the momentos, the ticket stubs and programs, the pictures, and the notebooks because these are things I still find joy in keeping, just like I did so long ago.

Nope, I haven’t changed that much at all.

With time NOT on my side, our looming “out date” forced me to abandon sorting the treasure trove of my kid-dom, my teenage-dom, my college-dom, and then some. The retro New Order, WHTG 106.3 FM, and local surf shop stickers slapped on my footlocker in the summer of 1989 alone are worth more than gold, and I can’t wait to see what else I find from the roadmap that made me who I am today.

What’s a trinket from your past you hold dear? I’d love to know in the comments.

Forgive me, but I must answer the loudly roaring battle call from the attic for round three, and time is a-ticking…

Thanks for joining me on my journey. I’m glad you’re here.

With gratitude,

Jill

Copyright 2019 – Jill Ocone. This was posted on July 12, 2019. Views and opinions contained in this post are solely those of the author, who was not compensated in any way by any entity. All rights reserved.