Jake Pavlica
Composing the Self
Memoir
2nd Draft

The Wall of Plaid

Finding music was like love at first sight. Better yet, fining music was love at first sound. Like meeting eyes with a beautiful stranger in a crowded place, I became intoxicated with playing music. Before any tangible memories took hold in my mind I can remember being in a dank, hazy bar. My father was on stage, blocked by the swaying hips of the lead singer. I was sat at a nearby table next to my mother, watching the purple stage lights flash across my dads golden cymbals. “The wall of plaid” he used to call it; in reference to the fact that his whole career as a musician had been spent behind people, holding down the groove and keeping the tempo. As a child I felt that this as some normality. I didn’t know anything other than it. I would go to these clubs to watch my dad. I would see the audience dance and sway like blades of grass as the different songs would take hold of them. Beyond of the flash of the guitarist, the sultry bellow of the bass, and the charismatic timbre of the singer was my father. He was the engine of the vehicle. His role in the band was to set the mood. When he played loud, the other band members met his ferocity. When he played slow, the band played slow.
When I was about eight or nine I decided to give music a shot. I had never been attracted the organized sports, though I had done them all. I never like being put on a team that I didn’t pick myself. I didn’t have the fire for it that other kids did, so I turned to the only thing that stood out to me in my short life. I started of with guitar; appealing to some egotistical sense of wanting to be the big, impressive rockstar. I found out that I had no patience to learn scales or learn the intricate finger movement that are an obvious necessity. Frustrated, I turned to the piano, hoping to be able to grasp some of the melodic elements I had hoped to find in guitar. I was met with he same frustration. It then occurred to me that I didn’t need to spend money on lessons, or this other equipment that I didn’t need. I turned to the drums, and I fell in love. The childlike, primal release of hitting something really appealed to me. I liked the noise. It was the first thing I listened to when a song came on the radio, because it was the only thing I would watch at my dads shows. My dad offered to show me some of the ropes. He taught me how to keep time and how to subdivide my body into different, independently operating parts.
I grasped the basics and set my eyes on the greater picture. What is a drummer without a band? Basically just atonal noise. A arrangement was made where a few of my fiends, who had the same fondness for music, and myself would get together with one of my fiends dads to learn songs. Through this I learned how to work in a unit and how to feed of the playing of others. When a song called for a solo, I would lay back in “the pocket” and give the spotlight to the soloist. The glory of drums is to be the mortar that holds the bricks together. When we had all gotten comfortable enough and felt that the experiment had run its course, the group cordially operated so that we could pursue our respective passions.
I set out to form a group of my own. I wanted to find the camaraderie that I saw in other bands as well as the creative environment in which I could express myself and write songs of my own. In a guitar class I was fortunate enough to find just that. The five of us were cut from the same cloth. Different patterns, all of us, but with enough common group and diversity to embark on something special. We rehearsed tirelessly, trying to find out what we really sounded like. We played covers in hopes that we would achieve the level of virtuosity that our idols had. We argued about our direction and the influences we would incorporate. My upbringing swayed me toward classic-rock, like Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath, while some of my other band mates skewed more to modern music. We started a trial by fire; to just sit down and write an original in hoped to unveil it at an upcoming concert for our school music program. We worked tirelessly on it, directing every piece and practicing it over and over until we could hardly stand the sound of it. When the concert rolled around we were reluctant to even play it. We ascend dot the stage and went through the usual setlist of cover songs we had leaned, all the while dreading what we would do when it came time to bust out the original. We ended our last cover song and stared into the crowd. My drum sticks were slick with nervous sweat as the five of us locked eyes and I counted us into the original. In that moment something clicked. Everyone hit their parts and not a note or beat was out of place. My final cymbal crash hit and the audience erupted into applause. In retrospect I know that the song was really no good, but the feeling of letting people hear a apiece of yourself was so gratifying that I knew we had tapped into something.
For the next four years we were a machine. We rehearsed once a week at a local studio for two and a half hours. We ran through old songs, wrote new ones, returned to old ideas in hopes to forge them into something worthy of live performance. We has fire in our bellies waiting to be expelled. I myself had expanded my scope of music to outside classic rock. I began listening to fusion, jazz, R&B, soul, and funk all in hopes to discover some new tool to put in my arsenal.

To be continued…

Drained and lifeless, our mood matched the baron wasteland of Bakersfield as we made out way down the freeway. The three of us were exhausted; Thomas, in the back seat curled up and listened to his own music to try and make the drive seem shorter than the several counting hours which would follow. Jesse and I tried to stimulate ourselves by switching the radio to the different station of the small town we would pass, always somehow finding the song we needed to keep the drive fun. We were excited, no doubt. We had planned this trip for what seemed like years after the group of tight nit brothers we had accumulated during high school all parted ways to attend college.

The trip began as an idea to visit of friends at their respective colleges up the northern coast of California. First we would stop in Santa Cruz for two days and two nights to visit Dylan, a rambunctious skateboarder and party animal. On the last leg of the journey we would spend a day in San Francisco and then visit Gabe, a laid back experimental musician, in Berkeley.

After a few hours of trying to lighten the ominous drive ahead with laughter and irreverent jokes we are hit with a wave of calm exhaustion. We are beyond any nameable town and there is nothing left to laugh at but the absurdity of out ill prepared pilgrimage. “Chances are” by Johnny Mathis came on a local radio station and the sunset dipped slowly behind distant hills and giant telephone polls. It was no wonder of the world, but it was beautiful and simple. It was what we needed. The trip was an excuse for us to visit these places that seem so close but yet aren’t. We had all been burnt out by our routines and the incessantness of the city. I can speak for my comrades because thats about all we talked about on the ride in between bouts of minor insane comedic rambling. After the sun had set and we moved into another nameless town we felt the rock of excitement fall into our bellies. We knew we had hours left to go but there as a destination. The yellow lines in the road became our lifeline to an adventure; a new scene. We had no business other than pure pleasure yet we felt we were on a mission.

Our arrival in Santa Cruz was less momentous than we expected. When we had seen the sing saying we were entering the city limits we screamed and hollered that we had finally made it. Hours of staring at the bleak darkness out of the grimy car windows, with only the headlines to illuminate the road and static interrupting mariachi radio. We pulled up to the small, beige house. On the chipped blue porch sat camping chairs and a wet brown sofa. We darted from the car, leaving our duffle bags behind and pounded on the door. The door swung open to reveal Dylan, a black beanie pulled down over his eyebrows and squinted eyes looking our form behind neck length curly hair. “Oh, hey” he said, his voice never rising above 2 decibels. Regardless, we hugged him and pushed our way into the house and greeted the other roommates, who were all sitting comfortably on the couch enjoying frozen pizza and college basketball. We spent the night catching up with Dylan and getting the tour of his home. The next day was spent walking the shoreline of Santa Cruz, allowing all the stress to melt into the breeze and soaking in what felt like fresh sun rays. We experienced the slow trudge that was downtown. People clad in plaid flannels loved like Zombies through syrup as we jetted about, trying to soak up what culture we could. In the evening we took bike ride back down to the shoreline bike path and beheld the golden sunset. We were at peace.

We stopped on the way to Berkeley at a beautiful mountain overlook in San Francisco. Looking like a Lego city from that distance I marveled at its uniqueness and seeming authenticity. It was a different air than Los Angeles. Dylan, who was joining us, skateboarded down the winding hills beneath the mountains as Thomas and I tried to capture the magnitude of the mind on top of the mountain. I was impressed by the flexibility of my legs. It was a gorgeous view and it fueled our excitement for the night we had in store.

We loaded up the car and continued on our quest. The traversed winding roads through green forests and imagined the world we would be entering at what we expected to be a hippie commune at Gabe’s house. The truck was filled with the spoils of thrift shops we had hit on the way there. We didn’t rob them, but it almost felt like we did. Denim and leather ran in abundance and we filled the truck like the belly of a starving man.

We arrived at Gabe’s house. It was a tall, thin white house; something I would have thought to be haunted if I didn’t know I had to sleep there that night. Gabe created us warmly, bringing us into the warmth of his home. Records lines the walls and people playing different instruments sat on couches that surrounded the living room. He showed us to his basement, where he had made a humble practice space for him and his musician friends. He, Jesse, and I had been in a band in High School so naturally we printed for our instruments and began to to play. Are chemistry was instantaneous yet again, each of us communicating in our eyes where we wanted the song to go or what bizarre experimental time signature we were about to shift into. After we had sweat together yet again, Gabe informed us of a party he was hosting that night in his house. We, who had traveled from LA only two days before, thought this was the welcoming we had be waiting for. The part was spent talking to new and exciting people, exchanging stories and party traditions that some of the dozens of Berkeley students had never heard of.

The next morning was a rude awakening, but one that felt deserved and fulfilling. We loaded back up into he car and drove off; three strong yet again. The ride back the three of us laughed about the shenanigans of the previous nights. We had an adventure. We had a new memory and the release we had craved.

Jake Pavlica
Composing the Self
Personal Essay Final Draft

Pursuing Imperfection

We are all sentient jigsaw puzzles. Human beings are the amalgam of bizarre shapes that they have amassed over years of experience. Through trials and tribulations we are all in search of finding all the pieces that will make us whole and fulfilled. I myself have been in pursuit of the illusive wholeness we all claw for since I can remember, but I have recently made it my goal to keep some pieces out of the equation.
I see this common theme infecting the minds of many members of my generation; this idea that we are already equipped to deal with the real world. I have never felt that I have the full arsenal of worlds knowledge at my disposal and for this I am actually grateful. I do not think it is enough to listen to someone talk about a world view from an objective standpoint. All and all we are all student of humanity so it does us no favors to get all of our information from one source and take it as fact, or our own opinion. Rather, we can focus the effort it takes to absorb the knowledge of the world and filter it into our everyday experience; seeking out new ideas and viewpoints so that we can better understand people and our own mind. If one is to maintain the ignorance that what they are told is the truth and the sum of all facts then we are diluting the human experience and creating a larger bubble of misinformation. We all have our own personal bubble that we run to in order to reassure ourselves that our world view is correct and in this we find a sense of self and reassurance. It is no doubt comforting to be confirmed in your beliefs and to hear that other have your opinions, but then what have you truly learned? You have discovered your own straight and your weakness. The strength that comes with this self realization makes you feel as if you stand high above those who feel differently and because of that you want them to try and climb up toy our level. Within us all is the craving for people to change for you, but this will not lead you to a wholeness. It is important to have the baseline of your beliefs; something that you can always return to in order to stay grounded, but it should not limit you from wanting to learn more.
In this day and age we are divided into teams. We allow our differences to define our relationships with one another rather than letting them be part of our intertwined experience. Our ability to converse about these different in culture has led to a world shut off from interaction for fear of being offensive or simply not knowing how to start the conversation. The key thing is that it should be a conversation. We should be willing to discuss and keep an open mind long enough to alert people of our inner realities without talking at them. Communication is a two way street and no one learns better than in a mutual interaction. In terms of political thought we subscribe to the what I call “us and them”. It is a simple theory which basically includes a persons own school of thought, as well as the community surrounding it, combating the “other” of that. We are so quick to label ourselves with this grand title that proves to others that we are apart of a group that thinks a certain way. Again, we return to seeking meaning in the definition of a group rather than searching for your own personalized views. Whoever does no agree with us if thrown into the “them” or “other” category and we develop an animosity toward them for not agreeing with us. To seek out imperfection is to accept the fact that each person is unique first and foremost. I truly do not believe that two people, much less a global network of people, all feel the exact same about every social idea. So why do we seek this group identity? Probably because it is safer to be animus in a mob than to be front and center in a school of though which only you may belong to. What happens when we group identity is a vicious cycle of generalization and vilifying. For the people who do not belong to our side we able them as savage or uncivilized to just plain stupid. There is this massive argument of free speech and thought but when it comes down to it we classify as either good or evil. We do away with the gray area ignored to further divid ourselves. We either belong to the blue team or the red team, the black team or the white team. Is it so impossible to exist in your own personalized area?
I emphasize this idea of achieving your own level of imperfection so that you remain uncomfortable and hungry. Once you settle into a lifestyle or frame of thinking you stifle yourself from growing as a person. To remain imperfect is to accept the fact that you can’t always change others but you can change yourself. You can discover new sides of the human experience by not attacking people just for their beliefs. Evil does exist in this world and if their actions are that of utter discriminatory, ignorant, villainy then by all means pick up the pitchforks and storm the castle. But if you feel your mind becoming agitated and hot because someone says something you don’t agree with, instead of running back to your safe bubble why not confront the person and ask why they feel that way. Why not discover something new about yourself, find some new boundary that you didn’t know you could cross.
I think often on how we seek out confirmation. We look at familiar news sources to grasp a digestible, sane reality. I remember speaking with a group of friends and the topic of politics came out. Looking over their phone screens they scoffed at the latest scandalous headline and furrowed their brows at the divided world we live in. I always feel outside of these conversations; the ones where people fling out facts and evidence like combatting catapult operators. I feel like I am in-between, perched comfortably on the fence observing their behaviors. It brings a smile to my face to see conversation, but not when its just people waiting to talk as their opponent finished their argument. Once my friends were done sparring I said; “See how great this is?”.
It is frustrating though that these insights I have can be so easily thrown away due to how young I am. Every moment that political thought is addressed I am constantly reminded of the little experience I have in the world. I recall sitting at a dinner party, which was filled with family friends who are lawyers, accountants, and industry professionals. The topics that emerge are usually pleasantry; “How’s school?, do you have a girlfriend?, are you still in that band?”. All these questions have definite answers. “Fine, no, yes” was the only way I could respond. When we sat around the table and politics came up I was again greeted by the verbal sparring I had witness before. When I would chime in to try and ask a question or pose something I would be shot down and told that I didn’t understand the way things work. I began to think that it was true, that I was clueless and naive. But I later realized that those are traits that I value. I like that I don’t know everything. I understand that I have many years to come in which I will further my knowledge of the way things work. When the time comes when I feel that I have gained that cynical enlightenment of the people at the dinner party I will try and be better. I won’t shoot down a youth trying to discover some new facet of life.
The worst thing you can do for yourself is feel that you have reached your maximum potential; either in your own knowledge or your craft. I have always enjoyed staying fractured. When I’m told “good job” on something I dismiss it with a “thank you”. I am grateful that pole feel the need to affirm me or support me, but I don’t walk way with anything tangible. I worked out an arrangement with my father when I was very young that he would always give it to me straight. When I would get off stage at a show I was playing and friends and family would flatter me, I would pull my dad aside and tell him to give me his honest opinion. He would highlight the pros and cons of my performance, not holding back any critique. Some may feel this is harsh, but I think it keeps me living. I don’t want to give anything time to settle, or harden. Because of my fathers honesty I am able to stay elastic and malleable. The ability to change is one that I hope to never take for granted.
Even though these factors exist that try to determine our agency I think it is important to not let the past die. I often reflect on how far I have come; as a person and an illegitimate philosopher. My past is not one that I care to revel in. I recall from an early age battling insecurity with my appearance and my personality. I felt like an outcast, like a leper who was tolerated. It is this frame of thinking from my early youth that shapes my drive to look forward. I have no desire to relive those feelings or sit in an awful memory of my self-loathing any longer than necessary. This past is apart of me, as much as every fiber of my being wishes it could have been different. In my own eyes I have always been imperfect and I found way to shift that introspection into something that can help me. Things are better now. Life has its peaks and its valleys but I also have that particular case in my life to reference and avoid. It is one piece of myself that remains true throughout my new experiences; like when you hit a pothole in the road and are instantly more awake.
Because of my own neurosis for my own growth I implore everyone I meet to not seek the thing that will comfort you, seek the thing that will make you reconsider your definition of comfortable. There is an endless spectrum of colorful teams out there who have voices just like you that are unheard in the universal shouting match of our binary society. Challenge this framework by being a freelance agent of the human race and find your own solid ground.
I often wonder who I am, to think that I have any right to talk about such a touchy subject for some. In the eyes of many I am still a child, though my age indicated thats I’ve been alive for two decades, no wisdom is generally attributed to me. I am an embodiment of a purgatory between adult certainty and childish nonsense. I have yet to have the crushing weight of the world on my shoulders. Many people in our world today use their perceptions and they group identity to try and lessen that heaviness. I’m still looking up at the quivering arms of Atlas holding the world over my head, either to protect me or squash my like a lowly insect.
At times it can be frustrating to feel that you have no identity besides the statistics you subscribe to; student, male, millennial etc. All the subdivisions of ourselves that we rely on for answers. I know that I am more than the sum of my characteristics. I have lighting firing through my brain giving me the impulses to seek out the new. When I stray from a group I sprint, and though the people I have left behind think I’m nothing more than an aimless child, I still return with the fresh realization gleaming in my eyes. I have seen something new, felt something new and I feel more whole because of it. A piece has fallen into place. But that memory will sink below the surface over time and leave room for another. I chose to remain imperfect and hungry because I have seen what the other side looks like. Hypocrisy runs rapid in our electric minds and we love to point fingers. I feel no spite, no animosity towards those who think differently from me. For me, them continuing in their reality, no matter how ignorant, only teaches me more about myself. Beyond good and evil, there lies the perfect purgatory for a growing mind to exist and learn. Why be in a rush to be someone specific? The comfort, I suppose, is the most intoxicating pursuit; to look in the mirror and recognize all the moving parts and what they mean. All I can encourage is to let yourself outgrow your parts. Shed things off like the skin of a snake, try on new hats. Challenge your own beliefs and follow the path that our head tells you, not the screaming radical beside you. We live in a world full of divisions and we have no responsibility to anyone but ourselves. So to all the people riding the fence, sweating and hoping a gust of revelation will push you to a certain side, be thankful for your objectivity and your questions.
Did that make any sense?

Smiths genius clearly transcends music. Her use of structure and tone are effortless and visceral. I love how she starts her tale where one would usually end; with death. It was interesting how she used what was on television to illustrate what was going on in her mind at the time before Roberts passing, as well as the dream state of going about your day while having this heavy reality setting in. From this seeming end she takes us to the beginning of her journey.

She describes the walks she took with her mother in Humbolt. She recalls seeing a swan and thinking that the one simple word used to describe it was not enough to encapsulate its beauty; she marks the explosiveness of the birds movement. It is easy to see how her love of description seeped into her songwriting and into her biographical writing here. Her love for words and the feeling of a story though vivid detail is on display in full splendor.

When Smith talks about her time spent in Germantown Pennsylvania I was struck with imagery. How she describes this ideal scene of churned playing in the grass as parents sit around smoking, drinking and enjoying the sun paints a picturesque far-cry from the streets of New York where she would later find fame. Her upbringing is not what I would have expected but thats what makes this piece so great; the tracing of the roots back to something that could easily be forgotten after being swept up in an entity like New York in the 1970’s.

Her exploration of the norms she never followed are also a great part of this piece. Talking about her hunger as an artist, her sexual experiences as well as her dismissal from college all form a clear image of who she became. This is the kind of piece I really can’t speak on because the power of it dwindles when it doesn’t come directly from the source (her). This is probably one of the best written and most interesting memoirs I have read.

• First time playing in front of an audience
• The first time I recorded music
• My first house show and the relationships that followed

• Falling in love (sappy) and getting my heart broken (sappy)
• Whats going on with me right now (internal dialogue about my life at this moment – might be to much to disclose)
• My childhood (how certain behavior arose and how they changed over time)
• INTERGRATING ALL THE IDEAS ABOVE INTO ONE COHESIVE NARRATIVE

Pursuing Imperfection

We are all sentient jigsaw puzzles. Human beings are the amalgam of bizarre shapes that they have amassed over years of experience. Through trials and tribulations we are all in search of finding all the pieces that will make us whole and fulfilled. I myself have been in pursuit of the illusive wholeness we all claw for since I can remember, but I have recently made it my goal to keep some pieces out of the equation.
I see this common theme infecting the minds of many members of my generation; this idea that we are already equipped to deal with the real world. I have never felt that I have the full arsenal of worlds knowledge at my disposal and for this I am actually grateful. I do not think it is enough to listen to someone talk about a world view from an objective standpoint. All and all we are all student of humanity so it does us no favors to get all of our information from one source and take it as fact, or our own opinion. Rather, we can focus the effort it takes to absorb the knowledge of the world and filter it into our everyday experience; seeking out new ideas and viewpoints so that we can better understand people and our own mind. If one is to maintain the ignorance that what they are told is the truth and the sum of all facts then we are diluting the human experience and creating a larger bubble of misinformation. We all have our own personal bubble that we run to in order to reassure ourselves that our world view is correct and in this we find a sense of self and reassurance. It is no doubt comforting to be confirmed in your beliefs and to hear that other have your opinions, but then what have you truly learned? You have discovered your own straight and your weakness. The strength that comes with this self realization makes you feel as if you stand high above those who feel differently and because of that you want them to try and climb up toy our level. Within us all is the craving for people to change for you, but this will not lead you to a wholeness. It is important to have the baseline of your beliefs; something that you can always return to in order to stay grounded, but it should not limit you from wanting to learn more.
In this day and age we are divided into teams. We allow our differences to define our relationships with one another rather than letting them be part of our intertwined experience. Our ability to converse about these different in culture has led to a world shut off from interaction for fear of being offensive or simply not knowing how to start the conversation. The key thing is that it should be a conversation. We should be willing to discuss and keep an open mind long enough to alert people of our inner realities without talking at them. Communication is a two way street and no one learns better than in a mutual interaction. In terms of political thought we subscribe to the what I call “us and them”. It is a simple theory which basically includes a persons own school of thought, as well as the community surrounding it, combating the “other” of that. We are so quick to label ourselves with this grand title that proves to others that we are apart of a group that thinks a certain way. Again, we return to seeking meaning in the definition of a group rather than searching for your own personalized views. Whoever does no agree with us if thrown into the “them” or “other” category and we develop an animosity toward them for not agreeing with us. To seek out imperfection is to accept the fact that each person is unique first and foremost. I truly do not believe that two people, much less a global network of people, all feel the exact same about every social idea. So why do we seek this group identity? Probably because it is safer to be animus in a mob than to be front and center in a school of though which only you may belong to. What happens when we group identity is a vicious cycle of generalization and vilifying. For the people who do not belong to our side we able them as savage or uncivilized to just plain stupid. There is this massive argument of free speech and thought but when it comes down to it we classify as either good or evil. We do away with the gray area ignored to further divid ourselves. We either belong to the blue team or the red team, the black team or the white team. Is it so impossible to exist in your own personalized area?
I emphasize this idea of achieving your own level of imperfection so that you remain uncomfortable and hungry. Once you settle into a lifestyle or frame of thinking you stifle yourself from growing as a person. To remain imperfect is to accept the fact that you can’t always change others but you can change yourself. You can discover new sides of the human experience by not attacking people just for their beliefs. Evil does exist in this world and if their actions are that of utter discriminatory, ignorant, villainy then by all means pick up the pitchforks and storm the castle. But if you feel your mind becoming agitated and hot because someone says something you don’t agree with, instead of running back to your safe bubble why not confront the person and ask why they feel that way. Why not discover something new about yourself, find some new boundary that you didn’t know you could cross.
I think often on how we seek out confirmation. We look at familiar news sources to grasp a digestible, sane reality. I remember speaking with a group of friends and the topic of politics came out. Looking over their phone screens they scoffed at the latest scandalous headline and furrowed their brows at the divided world we live in. I always feel outside of these conversations; the ones where people fling out facts and evidence like combatting catapult operators. I feel like I am in-between, perched comfortably on the fence observing their behaviors. It brings a smile to my face to see conversation, but not when its just people waiting to talk as their opponent finished their argument. Once my friends were done sparring I said; “See how great this is?”.
It is frustrating though that these insights I have can be so easily thrown away due to how young I am. Every moment that political thought is addressed I am constantly reminded of the little experience I have in the world. I recall sitting at a dinner party, which was filled with family friends who are lawyers, accountants, and industry professionals. The topics that emerge are usually pleasantry; “How’s school?, do you have a girlfriend?, are you still in that band?”. All these questions have definite answers. “Fine, no, yes” was the only way I could respond. When we sat around the table and politics came up I was again greeted by the verbal sparring I had witness before. When I would chime in to try and ask a question or pose something I would be shot down and told that I didn’t understand the way things work. I began to think that it was true, that I was clueless and naive. But I later realized that those are traits that I value. I like that I don’t know everything. I understand that I have many years to come in which I will further my knowledge of the way things work. When the time comes when I feel that I have gained that cynical enlightenment of the people at the dinner party I will try and be better. I won’t shoot down a youth trying to discover some new facet of life.
The worst thing you can do for yourself is feel that you have reached your maximum potential; either in your own knowledge or your craft. I have always enjoyed staying fractured. When I’m told “good job” on something I dismiss it with a “thank you”. I am grateful that pole feel the need to affirm me or support me, but I don’t walk way with anything tangible. I worked out an arrangement with my father when I was very young that he would always give it to me straight. When I would get off stage at a show I was playing and friends and family would flatter me, I would pull my dad aside and tell him to give me his honest opinion. He would highlight the pros and cons of my performance, not holding back any critique. Some may feel this is harsh, but I think it keeps me living. I don’t want to give anything time to settle, or harden. Because of my fathers honesty I am able to stay elastic and malleable. The ability to change is one that I hope to never take for granted.
Even though these factors exist that try to determine our agency I think it is important to not let the past die. I often reflect on how far I have come; as a person and an illegitimate philosopher. My past is not one that I care to revel in. I recall from an early age battling insecurity with my appearance and my personality. I felt like an outcast, like a leper who was tolerated. It is this frame of thinking from my early youth that shapes my drive to look forward. I have no desire to relive those feelings or sit in an awful memory of my self-loathing any longer than necessary. This past is apart of me, as much as every fiber of my being wishes it could have been different. In my own eyes I have always been imperfect and I found way to shift that introspection into something that can help me. Things are better now. Life has its peaks and its valleys but I also have that particular case in my life to reference and avoid. It is one piece of myself that remains true throughout my new experiences; like when you hit a pothole in the road and are instantly more awake.
Because of my own neurosis for my own growth I implore everyone I meet to not seek the thing that will comfort you, seek the thing that will make you reconsider your definition of comfortable. There is an endless spectrum of colorful teams out there who have voices just like you that are unheard in the universal shouting match of our binary society. Challenge this framework by being a freelance agent of the human race and find your own solid ground.
I often wonder who I am, to think that I have any right to talk about such a touchy subject for some. In the eyes of many I am still a child, though my age indicated thats I’ve been alive for two decades, no wisdom is generally attributed to me. I am an embodiment of a purgatory between adult certainty and childish nonsense. I have yet to have the crushing weight of the world on my shoulders. Many people in our world today use their perceptions and they group identity to try and lessen that heaviness. I’m still looking up at the quivering arms of Atlas holding the world over my head, either to protect me or squash my like a lowly insect.
At times it can be frustrating to feel that you have no identity besides the statistics you subscribe to; student, male, millennial etc. All the subdivisions of ourselves that we rely on for answers. I know that I am more than the sum of my characteristics. I have lighting firing through my brain giving me the impulses to seek out the new. When I stray from a group I sprint, and though the people I have left behind think I’m nothing more than an aimless child, I still return with the fresh realization gleaming in my eyes. I have seen something new, felt something new and I feel more whole because of it. A piece has fallen into place. But that memory will sink below the surface over time and leave room for another. I chose to remain imperfect and hungry because I have seen what the other side looks like. Hypocrisy runs rapid in our electric minds and we love to point fingers. I feel no spite, no animosity towards those who think differently from me. For me, them continuing in their reality, no matter how ignorant, only teaches me more about myself. Beyond good and evil, there lies the perfect purgatory for a growing mind to exist and learn. Why be in a rush to be someone specific? The comfort, I suppose, is the most intoxicating pursuit; to look in the mirror and recognize all the moving parts and what they mean. All I can encourage is to let yourself outgrow your parts. Shed things off like the skin of a snake, try on new hats. Challenge your own beliefs and follow the path that our head tells you, not the screaming radical beside you. We live in a world full of divisions and we have no responsibility to anyone but ourselves. So to all the people riding the fence, sweating and hoping a gust of revelation will push you to a certain side, be thankful for your objectivity and your questions.
Did that make any sense?

Some day making noise.

I look at this picture and can’t remember the day it was taken. Frankly I don’t need to. For me it was not the date that is important. All I remember is that I was in the studio with my band, sweating and churning away behind an amplified drum kit trying to make something I can one day be proud of. I remember take after take after take.

The importance of a snapshot in time for me is not the thing that is being captured but the event that is taking place. Many people live there lives through the nostalgia of the pictures they collect. Places, people, events, all immortalized in a single square image. I have been lucky enough to have my memories expanded beyond visual sense. I can relive moments of my life through sound. Yes, I know what your thinking; “we get it, you’re a musician”, but humor me won’t you. When I look back at my life I have an intangible medium in which to rediscover who I was when I recorded a song. When I listen to the jumbled arrangement of a project I made early on in my musical endeavors I can remember exactly where I was and what I was trying to do. “Be more flashy, make something that will make people perk up when they hear it”. I hear my growth as a player and as a person when I backtrack down the auditory landscape of my music. I can jump back and time and laugh at fifteen year old me, trying his hardest to be as clever as John Bonham, or as manic as Ginger Baker. I can jump forward from there and hear the bedrock of my own style coming to bloom. I hear myself hit wood to hide with confidence and clarity. I wince as I flub a fill or accidentally clack a drumstick against the metal rim of a snare drum, but I loosen up when I realize how far I have come and how far I have left to go. Like those who open their yearbook to shake their head at the unrecognizable, acne-ridden, face of their past self, I can sit back and hear a young boy trying to discover himself through art. I can’t help but smile as I listen to him try to make something that he can one day be proud of.

ONE DAY| Paradise Valley, AZ by Marissa Roth

The author shifts through memories as she prepares for what seems to be her next journey. She describes herself as a nomad, perhaps referring to her many travels as a journalist or a photographer. She uses physical objects and their descriptions a way to give the audience insight into her life. It is very stream of consciousness and visual. Time is also a theme in this piece; the author talks about how she feels life has gone by very quickly and how her adventures are captured in pictures. She seems calculated and in constant motion. It is hard to place just who she is from this but it gives as a vague generalization of the life she leads.

ONE DAY| Manila, Philippines by Marissa Roth

This piece serves as more insight into the author. We know now what she does for a living and how this practice leads her to authenticity. She captures that capture the spirit of a place. She explains her mental process of seeking out the authentic images; almost like a possession that she is unable to identify. Her instincts seem to control her craft and take her to place that she needs to be. Using the picture she took as context for her brief story puts us with her in that moment.

Recipe: Marshmallow Rice Krispy Treats by Matt Roberts

The recipe is used as context to show us the values of the this man and his family after they suffered from Hurricane Katrina. It puts emphasis on his kids and how he has had to deal with finical pressures and other adults problems while also having to be a stable parent. It is overflowing with a manic anxiety that takes us through his innermost thoughts. He uses reference to dreams he has that illustrate more about his upbringing and his life in Louisiana and how it has impacted his cognition as an adult. It is a kind of autopilot mentality and very stream of consciousness, but the ideas are all loosely tied together.

Baudelaire Street by Chen Li

This piece holds more artists symbolism than the others. It is the crystal lear recollection of a vibrant childhood. Nostalgia is the medium at work, rousing visceral images from each stanza. It is a snapshot of a neighborhood and the authors daily routine. I find it interesting how the first two pieces (by Marissa Roth) used a picture as the context and insight and this writing from Chen Li seemed to create a much more fleshed out picture without any direct visuals. Could it be that a picture does all the imagining for us? I enjoyed Li’s use of specifics, mostly people reaction to a youngster on a bicycle and the direct interactions he would have. We learn so much about him through his descriptions of others.

The Heart as a Torn Muscle by Randon Billings Noble

By far my favorite of all the pieces in this section. It is clever, honest, and human. Using medical jargon as a way to work through the basics of lust and potential bad romantic choices. It runs through the questions and internal dialogue we use when we spot a person we are instantly attracted to along with all the intense ideas our mind begins to create. Not much can be said about this other than what the author has put onto the page themselves. Its really a deeper look into us all, rather than a hyper-personalized look into the author. It feels as if it is personal because all the examples are so detailed but upon stepping back you realize you have, at one point, been the one with the torn heart or the bohemian friend who has offered objective realism. I love how it takes on a subject that not many people write in depth about; the stage at which we question our current relationship for some chance at a beautiful new escape, or change of scenery. This piece talks about the cruelest kind of heartbreak; where we may never know what could have been.

Caramelo by Sandra Cisseneros

A literal snapshot of a childhood. She remembers the time a photograph was taken of her family and her thoughts on each of her family members comes out as she goes over it. She uses descriptive language to give us a look into who her family were at the time and how they have changed. The relationship between them is hinted at and left to the reader to decipher. When she finds a photo that doe snot include her she ponders her own importance int he family dynamic.

Owens Valley Part 3: Kings Canyon national Park by Marko Bajzer

This is a visual past-tense itinerary of a mans journey through nature. We learn about this thoughts and ideas as he traverses through a mountain range. He uses direct information to tell the reader what he has accomplished and how he felt at the time. He provided pictures to support his story as well as direct dialogue froths comrades who were with him. We are there with him in this hind-sight report of his journey and we learn his truth through experience.

Jake Pavlica
Composing the Self
Personal Essay 2nd Draft

Pursuing Imperfection

We are all sentient jigsaw puzzles. Human beings are the amalgam of bizarre shapes that they have amassed over years of experience. Through trials and tribulations we are all in search of finding all the pieces that will make us whole and fulfilled. I myself have been in pursuit of the illusive wholeness we all claw for since I can remember, but I have recently made it my goal to keep some pieces out of the equation.
I see this common theme infecting the minds of many members of my generation; this idea that we are already equipped to deal with the real world. I have never felt that I have the full arsenal of worlds knowledge at my disposal and for this I am actually grateful. I do not think it is enough to listen to someone talk about a world view from an objective standpoint. All and all we are all student of humanity so it does us no favors to get all of our information from one source and take it as fact, or our own opinion. Rather, we can focus the effort it takes to absorb the knowledge of the world and filter it into our everyday experience; seeking out new ideas and viewpoints so that we can better understand people and our own mind. If one is to maintain the ignorance that what they are told is the truth and the sum of all facts then we are diluting the human experience and creating a larger bubble of misinformation. We all have our own personal bubble that we run to in order to reassure ourselves that our world view is correct and in this we find a sense of self and reassurance. It is no doubt comforting to be confirmed in your beliefs and to hear that other have your opinions, but then what have you truly learned? You have discovered your own straight and your weakness. The strength that comes with this self realization makes you feel as if you stand high above those who feel differently and because of that you want them to try and climb up toy our level. Within us all is the craving for people to change for you, but this will not lead you to a wholeness. It is important to have the baseline of your beliefs; something that you can always return to in order to stay grounded, but it should not limit you from wanting to learn more.
In this day and age we are divided into teams. We allow our differences to define our relationships with one another rather than letting them be part of our intertwined experience. Our ability to converse about these different in culture has led to a world shut off from interaction for fear of being offensive or simply not knowing how to start the conversation. The key thing is that it should be a conversation. We should be willing to discuss and keep an open mind long enough to alert people of our inner realities without talking at them. Communication is a two way street and no one learns better than in a mutual interaction. In terms of political thought we subscribe to the what I call “us and them”. It is a simple theory which basically includes a persons own school of thought, as well as the community surrounding it, combating the “other” of that. We are so quick to label ourselves with this grand title that proves to others that we are apart of a group that thinks a certain way. Again, we return to seeking meaning in the definition of a group rather than searching for your own personalized views. Whoever does no agree with us if thrown into the “them” or “other” category and we develop an animosity toward them for not agreeing with us. To seek out imperfection is to accept the fact that each person is unique first and foremost. I truly do not believe that two people, much less a global network of people, all feel the exact same about every social idea. So why do we seek this group identity? Probably because it is safer to be animus in a mob than to be front and center in a school of though which only you may belong to. What happens when we group identity is a vicious cycle of generalization and vilifying. For the people who do not belong to our side we able them as savage or uncivilized to just plain stupid. There is this massive argument of free speech and thought but when it comes down to it we classify as either good or evil. We do away with the gray area ignored to further divid ourselves. We either belong to the blue team or the red team, the black team or the white team. Is it so impossible to exist in your own personalized area?
I emphasize this idea of achieving your own level of imperfection so that you remain uncomfortable and hungry. Once you settle into a lifestyle or frame of thinking you stifle yourself from growing as a person. To remain imperfect is to accept the fact that you can’t always change others but you can change yourself. You can discover new sides of the human experience by not attacking people just for their beliefs. Evil does exist in this world and if their actions are that of utter discriminatory, ignorant, villainy then by all means pick up the pitchforks and storm the castle. But if you feel your mind becoming agitated and hot because someone says something you don’t agree with, instead of running back to your safe bubble why not confront the person and ask why they feel that way. Why not discover something new about yourself, find some new boundary that you didn’t know you could cross.
The worst thing you can do for yourself is feel that you have reached your maximum potential; either in your own knowledge or your craft. Don’t seek the thing that will comfort you, seek the thing that will make you reconsider your definition of comfortable. There is an endless spectrum of colorful teams out there who have voices just like you that are unheard debase of the universal shouting match of our binary society. Challenge this framework by being a freelance agent of the human race and find your own solid ground.
Did that make any sense?

JAKE PAVLICA
pavlica@chapman.edu or jfpavlica@gmail.com
310-490-1757 mobile

OBJECTIVES
I am seeking a part-time job opportunity that will utilize my excellent people skills for customer service. I work well with a team and I am punctual, courteous, reliable and responsible.

EDUCATION

Chapman University
Undergraduate, Sophomore (2018 to present)
Majoring in Communication Studies with a Minor in Music Technology
Host and creator of weekly award winning Chapman Radio Show – The Sourdough Hour

New West Charter High School
Graduate (2017)
Leadership Award for Musical Achievement – organized four person music group, rehearsals, and performances.

EXPERIENCE

Cherry on Top Yogurt & Poke Bar
Customer Service (2018)
Assist customers with preparing yogurt and poke bowls, cashier duties, general shop maintenance for cleanliness, appearance and safety.

New York Food Company
Event Staff Spring (2017)
Assisted with food prep and plating, event set-up and service. Required attention to detail and interaction with event guests.

Mar Vista Recreation Center Camp Counselor
Volunteer (July 2011-2015)
Assisted with organizing sports, activities and preparation of lunch for the younger campers.

Eagle Scout Troop 2 Santa Monica
Boy Scouts of America (2010-2017)
I earned the rank of Eagle Scout after a rigorous 7 year program in Troop 2. The road to Eagle Scout focuses on leadership, citizenship, emergency preparedness, and personal management.
I am CPR-certified and trained in Emergency Preparedness and First Aid.

SOVA Food Pantry
Inventory & Order Fulfillment (2010-2017)
Regular volunteer at SOVA West LA Food Pantry.
Filled orders and maintained stock and inventory.

SKILLS
CPR-certified
Radio Show Host (Since September 2018)
Musician (Since 2008) – drummer, recording artist and live performer.
Computer proficient on Mac, Google docs, MS Office.
Hobbies include: hiking, kayaking, and cycling.

FUTURE GOALS

I hope to utilize my skills and passions in a job that is not only financially stable but also meets my personal standards of creative fulfillment.