Congratulations, (25 Signs That) You’re “Grown”

Serious question. How do you know when you’ve grown up? And what does that even mean – to be “grown”? We’re always growing and maturing… what I’m talking about is that point in your life when you start feeling like a grown up. I’ve been thinking about this lately because my birthday is tomorrow, and I always get a little introspective around this time of year. This year in particular, I feel different. I feel as if something has gelled within me, something has clicked on a deep level. And it dawned on me, that this sensation is possibly what it feels like to be grown.

I imagine everyone has their own barometer, but for me, being grown is not about how old you are, how much money you make, if you own or rent, your career status, your marital status, or whether you’re a parent or not. It’s about reaching a certain level of self-awareness and coping ability. It’s about how well you take care of yourself and manage your life, including your emotional health. And it’s about confidence – not the loud boastful *confidence* of youth, but the quiet confidence of maturity.

Being grown doesn’t mean you’ve stopped evolving – in fact, it’s the opposite. It’s about wanting and actively trying to learn and grow, recognizing that you in fact do not know everything. And being okay with that, not feeling as if you’re less than or not enough.

I associate youth with a lot of positive things, but also with a fair amount of insecurity, self-doubt, self-sabotage, and self-criticism. When you’re grown, it’s not that you don’t have these feelings – but you’re better at controlling them and not letting them get the better of you. Being able to control your feelings is probably one of the most difficult things to do. I’m still not great at it, but I’m way better than I used to be.

Immaturity also feeds on drama, whereas maturity does not. This is why maturity has little to do with age, because there are plenty of adults who feed on drama, i.e. make a big deal and worry about everything, constantly feel like victims, and never actually use the advice they’re always seeking, or do much of anything to fix their problems.

Over the summer, I started a list of things that I thought make a person “grown” – with the caveat that “I can decide later which ones count.” This is what I came up with:

You’re grown when…

1. You start making and rescheduling your own doctor appointments.
2. You’re on top of your bills and finances and running a tight ship independently.
3. You’re disciplined with your time, diet, spending, and/or routine.
4. You’re able to cope day-to-day and maintain a relatively content life without complaining all the time.
5. You plan ahead and make strategic decisions.
6. You stop making decisions based on what other people think.
7. You can acknowledge your mistakes and/or weaknesses, take responsibility for your actions, apologize for mistakes, not berate yourself for your weaknesses, and work towards shoring up those weaknesses.
8. You stop taking things personally and can assess what’s really going on.
9. You know what you need vs. what you want.
10. You can remain calm (or at least the appearance of calm) in a crisis.
11. You know when to ask for help, who to ask, and how to ask.
12. You start asking for what you want.
13. You can keep a secret (as in, keep things close to the vest until the appropriate time).
14. You can read people fairly quickly and know how to deal with them without confrontation.
15. You can recognize what triggers you and soothe yourself when you are triggered.
16. You set deadlines for yourself and stick to them (same with boundaries).
17. You stop beating yourself up about everything.
18. You stop feeling jealous of others or, rather, channel any hint of jealousy into action.
19. You know how to listen.
20. You can say No to things, or certain people, and not feel guilty about it.
21. You know how much your time is worth and act accordingly.
22. You know what friendship means and stop treating everything as a transaction.
23. You stop holding grudges and either accept people for who they are, or gently let them go.
24. You stop making excuses.
25. You can receive advice, or feedback, gracefully (and gratefully) and not get defensive.

I could keep going… but I’d love to hear your thoughts.

What do you think makes a person grown?

Slaying the Dragon of Fear

I had a crisis of faith the other day (actually, it lasted 3 days). It was triggered by someone offering me an opportunity of a lifetime, and me answering, YES. As soon as I hung up the phone, I thought, “Oh shit.”

I spent the rest of that day and the next two days questioning whether I had made the right decision. What had it meant to say YES? What had I gotten myself into? Was I really ready for this commitment?? The more I thought and talked about it, the more I realized I AM READY. And that all my doubts were about FEAR.

Let’s talk about Fear. A lot of people think that the opposite of fear is Courage, and that Courage is being “fearless.” Let me tell you something. No one is fearless. NO ONE. Unless they’re delusional.

Fear is natural. It’s one of the most natural emotions out there – probably every living thing on this earth feels fear at some point. It’s a self-preservation tool. Our brains tells us to fear something because it wants to protect us from danger or pain, or more complex emotions like embarrassment or ridicule.

I have a friend who admitted her greatest fear is WASTING TIME. So, it’s very difficult for her to start something new because she is afraid it will be all in vain.

One of the greatest fears we commonly have is the fear of FAILURE. What we don’t talk about nearly as much is the FEAR OF SUCCESS. You know that phrase, “Be careful what you wish for”? Fear of success is a real thing.

We’re told to envision what we want and strive for it with all our being. What happens when you get what you want? There’s a real possibility that you might freak out. And THAT’S OKAY. How you move through a moment like this is crucial.

The first thing to do is BREATHE. Don’t panic. Don’t do anything sudden. Take a moment – or a few days – to analyze the situation from all sides.

You might want to seek advice from loved ones and close confidants. But only reach out to people who know you really well and that you 100% trust to be both honest and discreet (a crisis of faith is a vulnerable moment and the wrong type of person can take advantage of that). Finally, be ready to hear what people tell you.

When I reached out to my closest friends, each one had different advice.

“It sounds like you’re looking for permission to let yourself off the hook,” one observed.

Another told me to write the Pros and Cons of my decision down and call her back. Ironically, my Cons list was longer! But the Pros were more compelling. And, on further reflection, I realized that everything I’d listed in the Cons was fear-based. And I had vowed to not make my decision based on fear.

The most consistent thing people told me was, “That’s the Fear talking.”

The most important thing is to let yourself have this moment without berating yourself. FEEL IT. Let it move through you. It’s normal. It’s healthy! It means you realize the gravity of the situation, the stakes. And it’s good to think things through.

Back to the word Courage.

The definition of Courage is doing something DESPITE your fear. Put another way, Courage is about overcoming fear. This is a huge part of drama, right? We want our heroines to slay the dragon even though they’re afraid. We want to see them push through it and come out the other side victorious. Even if they fail, it’s far more satisfying to see someone overcome their fears than not to.

And how do we overcome fear? With PREPARATION.

With the right preparation – doing your homework – you can do anything you set your mind to. After I had made up my mind to go forward, I texted one of the people I’d spoken with. She wrote back, “Be prepared.”

There is no getting around putting in the time and work. So, if you’re not willing to do that, maybe you should walk away. But if you ARE… the world is yours.

So, go ahead and slay that dragon.

Pandemic Projects

So much of how we deal with these crazy times depends on our circumstances: where we live, whether we’re employed or not, essential or working from home, and what our family structure is, whether we’re partnered, single, with or without kids.

I happen to be single, without children. I own a house and live alone in a small upstate NY town. When the pandemic hit in full force back in March, I was sent home to work, but there wasn’t much to do, so I had a lot of free time on my hands.

Lockdown rules said we weren’t supposed to leave our homes for anything other than groceries, medicine, essential work and walking a pet. In those early days, the virus was raging through New York State, especially NYC, where my sister and other family members live. I was so sick with worry most of the time that I couldn’t concentrate on anything. In fact, I felt paralyzed.

Then my dog ran off more than once after critters (once, I actually had to circle the block in my car to find her). And this set me on a path to fence my property, which was the first Pandemic Project.

The fear of losing my dog, and the desire to protect her, was a powerful motivator. Luckily, Lowe’s was an essential business. The store became my go-to spot other than the supermarket. I set out to build an inexpensive fence in the back and front yard, mostly by myself, with a friend helping me when I needed an extra hand.

At the same time as the fence project, I started getting my garden together, buying plants, pots, soil, mulch, building beds, planting, mulching, and, of course, making countless  trips to Lowe’s. When I was working on the fence or the garden, I didn’t think about anything else. After a few hours of physical labor, I would be too tired to worry, at least for a little while. I was in my yard every single day, rain or shine, working working working. Both projects took me, on and off, about two months to fully complete.   

In the evenings, I zoomed with friends I hadn’t talked to in a long time, with family members. I watched movies. I wrote. And I started reading again.

Reading was a Big Deal because I hadn’t had the mental concentration to read a book since my brother died two years ago. The book that changed that, which I picked up two months into lockdown, was Alex Haley’s 800-page novel ROOTS. I could not put it down (more on this seminal book in a later post). After that I read the dystopian novel STATION ELEVEN by Emily St. John Mandel, about life after a pandemic. Also couldn’t put it down.

Looming over these other projects was my screenplay, which I’ve been working on for a long time and decided to finish this year. Since, lockdown forced me to be home all the time, I figured this would be the perfect opportunity.

It was rough in the beginning. Being so terribly worried about family and friends all over the country and world was not conducive to writing. But I tackled it like all the other projects, a little bit at a time. There were days when I would tell myself, “all you have to do is write for one hour.” I would set my timer, silence my phone, turn off the WiFi, and begin. Inevitably, at the end of the hour, I would want to write for another hour, and another…. Then, when I could see the progress and the “light at the end of the tunnel,” it motivated me even more.

I finished the first official draft in May and sent it to my representation in Los Angeles. I completed a second draft in July (based on their feedback), and now I’m waiting for notes that will, no doubt, lead to the next draft. Each draft gets me closer to my goal.

I guess the thing that’s helped me deal with the pandemic the most is staying busy, and staying CREATIVE.

My advice to others struggling to stay productive during these times is to:

• Have goals, no matter how small, and work towards them
• Tone down expectations; realize that everything takes longer than usual these days
• Avoid negative people and toxic energy like the plague
• Avoid anyone or anything that doesn’t feel right, period
• Go out of your way to be kind and forgiving to yourself (and others)
• Get outside as much as  possible, while avoiding others
• Change the scenery if you can; go somewhere new, even if just for a few hours
• Talk to someone, a therapist or confidant, or write down what you’re feeling
• Read, read, read, read, READ
• Exercise in whatever way you can, stay hydrated and eat healthy
• Stay in touch with the people you care about
• Limit how much you listen to and read the news; take social media breaks

What has helped you? I’d love to hear about your Pandemic Projects.

 

 

 

What to Write About

First of all, Hello. I am happy to report that I am still alive, living in upstate New York with my dog Ruby, and both of us are healthy (knock on wood). I do feel slightly mortified that it took an actual Apocalypse to get me blogging again, but here we are… at home for the indefinite future, trying not to go insane, ie. the perfect time to dust off this old WordPress site and hit “new post.”

Now that I have Nothing but Time, there are so many things to write about, I don’t even know where to begin.

I could write about my first ever trip to Paris in December 2019 and how great it was, and how relieved I am that I went when I did because who knows when it’ll be safe to go back and leisurely walk around museums and eat all the things in restaurants like one does in Paris.

I could write about the new screenplay I recently completed and sent via the matrix to Los Angeles, what it feels like to wait for feedback, how I’m trying to not count the days (7 so far) or analyze what each additional day with no feedback could mean, how disappointing it is that I’m not as over this kind of angst as I thought I was, and how I’m now questioning whether I was I ever cut out for this in the first place, and what was I thinking trying to be a writer?

I could write about the trip I was supposed to take to Los Angeles (after a 5-year absence) last month that got postponed (not canceled!) due to the pandemic and how much I was looking forward to it, especially holding a reading of the screenplay with actors. I’m trying to wrap my mind around doing the reading via Zoom.

I could write about how obsessed I am with gardening and how I can’t decide whether this is a healthy hobby or an expensive distraction from dealing with my actual life and all the projects I want to write but don’t seem to be able to concentrate long enough to actually begin writing.

I could write about how, in addition to how hard it is to start something new, it’s also extremely challenging to finish anything, which is a particularly frustrating conundrum.

I could write about how listless I feel these days, and how simple things like going to the grocery store totally exhaust me,  which of course leads to my using and eating everything in the house until there’s only one cup of rice left, a few condiments and one roll of TP (donated by friends) to hold me over until I can muster the strength to go back out to the store.

I could write about how my mood has apparently become totally dependent on the weather; on cold rainy days I can barely get out of bed, on warm sunny days I am manically working on outside projects like erecting a fence around my property and painting said fence, all by myself, which is equal parts self-sufficient, frugal and insane.

I could write about how when the pandemic began I obsessively begged my relatives who live in major cities to leave their homes and escape to the countryside before the authorities closed the bridges and roads, and how, six weeks later, they finally did escape, and now they’re marveling at the relative quiet (bird chirping having replaced ambulance sirens) relaxed atmosphere and green lushness.

I could write about how my community has come together to make masks and start food bank initiatives and other do-good projects, but I feel apart from all that and pretty isolated even though I’m only three blocks from Main Street.

I could write about how it’s been 9 years since Kaz died, 4 years since my father died, almost 2 years since my brother died, and almost 28 years since my mother died, and I’m still not over any of these losses, nor will I ever be, but I’m grateful at least that my parents aren’t here to witness the madness and dangers of this current U.S. administration and global crisis.

I could write about how much I’ve grown to admire Governor Andrew Cuomo and can’t decide whether I’d prefer him to be my President, my adopted father, or my new husband, but his daily press briefings are one of the few things keeping me calm and giving me hope these days.

I could write about so many things… but for now, I think I will just say

Hello. It’s nice to be back. I’ve missed this blog, and I’ve missed you bloggers and readers.

What are you up to?

What are you writing about?

How are you doing?

Talk to me.

The Key to (this) Writer’s Happiness: Organization + Routine

I think the key to happiness is… staying organized. At least, for me. I’m not one of those writers who works in a cluttered office. I like things to be neat and in their place, so I can find them when necessary, so I don’t have to think about the mess. I’m obsessed with lists, making them, crossing them off.

Lately, I’ve been taking care of things that have been on my To Do list for months. New brakes on car, repaying loans, sending thank you cards, organizing my office papers, making and showing up for doctor appointments, etc. It feels good to check things off, to not have them hanging over my head, to have order. I actually enjoy paying bills and balancing my checkbook.

I’m also easily distracted. So, routine (i.e. organized time) is my friend.

The other day on Instagram, @instarlodge (a residency center that I follow) posted the following: Louise Bourgeois was very habitual with her morning routine. She would drink a cup of tea “with some jelly straight out of the jar,” her assistant recalled. Afterwards, he explained, “she’d have a bit of a sugar high and be ready to roll.” Her morning Routine was so set and connected with her assistant she created 10 am is When You Come to Me (2006). Which all goes to say, we’re interested in your morning routine, how you set up for the day, the week. 

I responded in the comments: Wash dishes. Make coffee. Drink coffee and think while outside throwing stick for dog. Feed dog. Take shower. Dress. Review lists, make lists. Get to work.

(I forgot to add Make bed. Like, I can’t leave the house with an unmade bed.)

This basic routine rarely changes. Sometimes the dog and I will go for a walk or hike instead of playing fetch, but that’s the only variance.

In fact, the dog knows the routine so well, she doesn’t even get out of bed (on the second floor) until she hears my spoon stirring the milk into coffee. It’s like that movie Get Out, when the guy has an automatic reaction every time he hears the tinkling of a tea cup being stirred, except with the bionic hearing of a dog. I’ve tried stirring the coffee silently… but her four feet still thump-thump-thump down the stairs.

Once I tried feeding her before going outside; she looked at me like, “who are you?”

So, yeah, organization… and routine. This is my happy place (my dog’s happy place too). Because when life throws those curveballs, all that organization and routine get shattered like broken glass, and it’s so difficult to put the pieces back together, to find that steady rhythm again. Even good news can do this… but definitely bad news, stress and grief.

When I maintain my routine and stay organized, in control of things, that’s when shit gets done. My head is free to wander and roam. My writing is more relaxed and confident. I can focus on the task at hand… and I treasure this.

What’s your routine?

Why I Don’t Kill Bugs

Picture this. You walk into your bathroom and notice a large centipede in your tub, frozen in place, perhaps because it senses you, but alive. What do you do?

Most people would smash the centipede with their shoe, pick it up with some toilet paper, and throw it in the toilet. That’s what I used to do.

Lately, however, my attitude towards bugs has changed, and no one is more surprised by this than I. That’s because I very strongly dislike things that scurry or buzz, especially in my house, but even outside. When I encounter one of these creepy-crawly-buzzing creatures I tend to react with the stereotypical “scream and jump on the nearest chair” routine, followed by the equally predictable “search and destroy” routine.

The only exception has been spiders. I don’t know if it’s a myth I once heard, or because I read Charlotte’s Web when I was a child, but I’ve always believed it’s bad luck to kill a spider.

I think the attitude shift towards the rest of the creepy-crawlies started after my late husband died. I remember going on a hike in the Santa monica mountains about four weeks after he died. It was ill-advised to attempt a hike – I was totally exhausted and didn’t make it very far.

I ended up sitting at a bench and just staring at the scenery – ducks in the water, flies and bumblebees buzzing around, a hummingbird making its way from flower to flower. At the time, I felt resentment, like why did these flies and bumblebees get to live and Kaz didn’t?

But over the years, I started marveling at anything to do with Nature, even bugs. I actually started feeling like we humans are the guests, and the bugs, plants, and animals are the hosts. Like it’s their planet. We’re just passing through.

When I moved from Los Angeles to rural upstate New York, the bugs and critters seemed more natural than people. I still screamed when I saw them in my house, but I hesitated before running after them with a can of bug spray. And I felt really bad when I killed one. That house had a mice problem, and the owner helped me put out traps and poison. One day I came home to a dead mouse floating in the toilet, which was beyond gross, but also sad. The mouse probably ate the poison and jumped into the toilet to relieve his thirst or pain. I felt terrible for it.

When I moved into my current house, I was relieved that it didn’t seem to have any major bug or rodent issues. Then, one winter’s day when all the windows were closed, a diamond-dhaped, flat, flying bug suddenly landed on my computer, seemingly out of nowhere. Normally, I would have killed it, but something told me not to.

I very gently picked the bug up with a tissue, opened the window to the freezing winter’s air, and threw it outside, wishing it luck.

I repeated this with about a dozen identical bugs (or a dozen times with the same bug, who knows) over the course of that first winter. After the third time, I decided to research the bug and learned that it was a Stink Bug, which are common in this area and relatively harmless.

Killing a Stink Bug releases… you guessed it… the Mother of all Stinks. So, my instinct to not kill it was correct.

Since then, I have felt less inclined to kill other bugs I come across. Which brings me back to the centipede.

A few weeks ago I saw this thing in my tub.

I immediately screamed and ran out of the bathroom, horrified and hyperventilating.

When I finally got up the nerve to re-enter the bathroom, I stood over the tub and inspected the centipede. My voice must have startled it, because now it was trying desperately to crawl out, but as soon as it got halfway up, it slid back down. It was definitely trapped.

Everything about this bug revolted me.  But I simply couldn’t kill it. Which meant I had to get rid of it some other way.

First, I tried easing a piece of toilet paper under it, but the minute I got close, the damn thing started running so fast, it was almost on my finger before I knew what was happening. I screamed, dropped the toilet paper with the centipede, and ran out of the bathroom again.

A few minutes later, I returned with a New Yorker magazine.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” I said to the centipede. “I’m trying to save you.”

I took a deep breath, paused to open the window and the screen, then gently placed the New Yorker under the centipede. Once again it ran at lightening speed across the magazine, but I had *just* enough time to stand up and throw it and the New Yorker outside.

This same scenario happened with a black ant, as well as a spider. Apparently, my tub is a popular spot.

Then, of course, there was the squirrel who jumped in front of my car and which I quickly swerved to avoid hitting.

The deer that someone else hit, whose dead body on the side of the road caused me to burst into tears.

And the frogs.

Returning home from a friend’s house in the woods one rainy evening, my headlights picked up on movement on the road ahead. It was hundreds, if not thousands, of little frogs jumping in the middle of the road (this video shows a similar situation, though I was on a smaller country road).

It was too late to turn back, so I had to keep going… knowing that I was killing at least a few frogs. It was heartbreaking.

As was the other day when a bee stung me, and I realized that the bee would die.

Why am I telling you about these weird stories? I guess because I see a direct correlation between loss and life.

I was just trying to explain this to a friend the other day (and wasn’t terribly articulate about it). Losing people, and experiencing death up close, humbles you. Humbles me. To the point where I don’t look at any living creature  in the same way. The centipede, bees, worms, snakes, rats, mice, you name it… call me a hippie, but I will spend a little more time to avoid them without harming them.

Unless you’re a mosquito.

If you’re a mosquito, fuggedaboutit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let’s Get It On – a Marvin Gaye Moment

Salvador Dali’s “Allégorie de Soie”

I experienced a Moment the other night, an emotional moment, in public. It was slightly alcohol-induced, but I wasn’t so inebriated that the room was spinning or I felt bad. On the contrary, I was in that sweet spot, tipsy and feeling wonderful. I had just completed a work project that took several weeks and a lot of energy, and had a successful, well-attended opening. People in town had seen me bleary-eyed and dressed in paint-splattered clothes for weeks, but this night I was wearing makeup and a brand new dress. I was feeling beautiful, proud, relieved, and as buoyant as if I were walking on air. If I’d had enough money, I would have bought everyone a round of drinks. Instead, I found myself standing next to a handsome stranger at the bar.

Now, in my little town, a handsome un-accompanied stranger whom you’ve never seen before is a rarity, especially on a Saturday night in your favorite watering hole, and especially when he’s carrying a large, football-sized conch. Yes, that’s right, he had a large conch, and I blew it at the bar. Very loudly. I think I surprised a few people with just how loudly I let it rip. Or maybe when I yelled “It’s like Yom Kippur in here!” afterwards, laughing hysterically.

I blew it a few more times before getting tired and handing it back to its owner, who looked both amused and impressed. Introductions, another drink, more conch blowing and conch talk, and then Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On came on the sound system. If you’ve never heard this song, I’ve added a link below. It’s one of those songs that makes you want to dance with someone. Well, for once, there was actually someone there, and, based on the few words we’d exchanged, I suspected that he knew and loved this song too. I reached for his hand and pulled him out of his chair to dance with me.

I don’t know how much of it was the song, the man, me, or the moment—but dancing together felt really damn good. It’s been a really long time since I’ve been that physically close to another person. And my instinct that he knew and loved the song was correct. He knew the words, he knew the rhythm, and he was feeling it. He danced like a gentleman, not grabby or grindy but holding my hand to his chest and his other arm around my waist. I closed my eyes and half-sang, half-hummed the song, feeling relaxed, not thinking about anything, just totally in the moment, enjoying Marvin’s voice, the words, the warmth of this man’s body and hands, the comfort of being able to put my head on his shoulder, feeling the yearning beautiful soul in that music. At some point near the end of the song, our faces brushed close to each other and we kissed. It  was honestly the only way to end that dance to that song in that bar on that night.

As the song faded, we stopped and returned to the bar. And that’s when the Moment happened.

A powerful emotional wave started in my heart moved down to my stomach through my loins then rushed back up through my heart up to my brain, hitting the shores of my eyelids before plunging down and through the circuit all over again. I wasn’t crying, but my eyes welled up and tears fell down my cheeks, and I was absolutely powerless to stop them. I closed my eyes and focused, not on stopping the wave, but on feeling it, sweeping through me, rushing, sloshing this way and that… until the waters finally calmed.

When I opened my eyes again, I sensed the bartender and my friends, who were also at the bar and witnessed the moment, trying to hide their concern and respectfully give Mr. Conch, who also saw it, the chance to react first. He was standing right beside me, thankfully not looking panicked, but mildly concerned and curious. He smiled a friendly smile and rubbed my back gently. “Are you okay?” “Yes,” I said and wiped my eyes. Moments later, we were all laughing again.

I didn’t feel as embarrassed as I thought I would, having had such a moment in public in one of the few bars in my little town. As moments go, it was pretty mild. It’s not like I caused a scene. Just a few silent tears in the corner of the bar next to the espresso machine. I wondered if the other folks at the bar recognized that it had been a wave of grief and not just a moment of having too much to drink. I hoped everyone would forget about it the next day, and then decided I didn’t care. The moment had clearly been triggered by the dance and the kiss, both of which I thoroughly enjoyed. And therein lies the rub.

The heart is a muscle and, like any other muscle, it remembers long-stored emotions. Certain joys can actually trigger a more acute pain than sadness can. Sometimes I wonder if I am so tender inside that I will never be able to experience those emotions again without also feeling pangs of pain. Or maybe I’ll only feel pain for a short while, and the painful periods, and the time between them, will get shorter and shorter. All I know is I have been alone, without a partner, and nearly celibate for almost seven years. I am content being alone, and do not feel lacking or afraid of anything. But I’m still human, and like Marvin says, “We’re all sensitive people, with so much to give…”

There’s a part of me that feels so untouched and raw that it is almost innocent, washed clean, and yet it is also mature and strong. This is the part deep inside me that has developed within the dark pressures of grief, like a pearl nestled in the soft tissue of a shell, a butterfly just born and ready to fly.

 

 

 

 

Ringing in the New Year – Shutting Out the Noise

I usually end the year with a post about what I’ve accomplished in the outgoing year, and what I hope to accomplish in the year to come. This year I really haven’t blogged much. I shared in shorter bursts on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, outlets that don’t require a lot of writing or deep thought, and saved what little writing time I had for my book, stealing moments here and there throughout the year.

I miss blogging very much.

Many things came between me and my writing this year. I should say, I allowed many things to come in between me and my writing. I was feeling down about it for a while, but have since come to the conclusion that this was a phase I had to go through. There were things that I wanted to do this year, and they took a lot of my time and energy.

I wanted to buy a house and establish a foundation.

I wanted to produce a successful event for work that people would remember.

I wanted to go to Israel, where I was born, where my mother is buried, where I have family and friends whom I haven’t seen in many years.

I toyed with the idea of adopting a second dog, and then did so on a whim during the busiest period of the year. I’ll post more about Gracie later. In the meantime, here she is (on left) with Ruby about four weeks after I adopted her.

I wanted to see a lot of art.

(Pictured are works by Louise Bourgeois, Ad Reinhardt, Ruth Asawa, and Kenny Scharf)

All these things I did, plus lots of hiking.

It was a productive year but not a writing year. In my free time, I mostly watched television, went out with friends or traveled, all good things to do but not conducive to writing.

The time has come to once and for all make writing a priority. I still have two part-time jobs, two dogs, many friends and responsibilities. But I’m changing how I approach life, how I see myself, and what I do in my free time. Starting with this weekend.

I signed off of social media and, after I publish this blog post, will be completely offline for the next three days. I’ll log in again on Tuesday morning. Save for one meeting at my house tomorrow morning, I have cleared my schedule for the entire weekend. I have no plans to go out New Years Eve. I will hike, but that’s how I clear my mind and get the dogs to sleep all afternoon.

I am sequestering myself not only to write, but also to think and get centered without the constant noise of life. There’s a coffee shop/bar just down the street, in case I get lonely. But I don’t think I will.  I am craving quiet, alone time. Zero obligations and distractions. Minimal time in my car, on the phone, watching television. As a writer, this is how I get my head straight.

I’ll report back next week. Wishing you all a very Happy New Year, as well as a safe New Years Eve. See you on the other side. xoxo

 

A New Chapter Begins

I’ve been away from the blog for a while because all I wanted to write about was how stressful house-buying is, and I couldn’t put that out there publicly while the process was happening. Well, as of one week ago, that dilemma became mute. I am officially a homeowner! And it is nothing short of a miracle.

Financially, it squeezed everything I had and then some. Beyond that, it was a huge emotional life step, one that’s honestly still sinking in. I’ve never owned a house before. The prospect of owning one by myself is daunting, liberating, and bittersweet.

I so wish that Kaz was with me to enjoy this milestone and that we were buying it together. I also know that he is beaming with pride and joy to see me settled in a safe, secure environment, great community, and with a smart investment.

My hope is that owning this house won’t be a distraction, but rather a jumping off point for (literally) the next chapter of my life. I have to force myself to stick to that, but I feel confident that I can do it.

Part of what got me through the house-buying stress was editing and writing my book. I didn’t have the mental bandwith to also blog, but at least I wasn’t totally uncreative. Writing really helped keep me focused and steady during the ups and downs of the process, which were many. I just kept thinking, “everything is going to be okay.”

Here’s to new beginnings and a new chapter in life.

 

 

Putting It Out There (Are You Listening, Universe?)

Loss is a beast. I’m not sure I’ll ever truly understand or be free of it.

I have felt somewhat distant from the losses I experienced earlier this year, partly because they both lived on the other side of the country. Partly because I’ve deliberately kept myself busy these last few months, with work mostly. It didn’t occur to me until just now, but I did the same thing after Kaz died.

Which is not to say that good things aren’t happening. All the hard work seems to have created some momentum.

I have been writing on my book, and it’s going really well.

I just started a new blog series for a large company – to be announced soon.

Ruby is healing beautifully and as beautiful as ever.

I am taking the first steps towards buying a house – finding out what I can afford and looking around my area. I hope to buy something toward the end of the year.

I have stopped eating meat and am trying to avoid dairy – the former a lot easier to do than the latter!

Things are going well at my PT gallery job.

I spent a very special weekend at a conference at West Point Military Academy recently, and am about to attend a prestigious writers’ conference in NYC.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve made some wonderful new friends and connections.

Still, there is a layer of loneliness to life. This is more of an observation than a complaint. I don’t think it has to do with the rural area where I live. I see plenty of people through my job and social life.

No, there is loneliness because I am alone at home (other than the dog). It was a necessary cocoon, of sorts and not in a bad way, as I healed. Now I miss having another person around to share moments and conversations.

There is so much life still to live.

But it has to be the right person… someone who doesn’t need much, someone who is intelligent, intuitive and kind. Someone who has a good sense of humor, a passion for something, is artistic but not egotistical, talented but humble. Someone who understands what is important in life and isn’t afraid to live it.

Am I asking for the stars? I hope not. I used to think it impossible to meet someone as cool as Kaz. Now I feel more ready to accept what a friend once told me, “It won’t be the same. It will be different.” I also feel like I’ve learned the lessons I needed to learn, and I’m ready to apply them should I get the chance.

The idea of going on a dating site does not appeal to me in the least. I’d like to meet someone in an organic, no pressure kind of way.

It’s been 5 years since Kaz died. Strangely it feels both like yesterday and like a lifetime ago. I’m proud of how I’ve changed my life – moved across country, started a new career and a whole new social life.

What’s missing is a partner… and a house.

Not sure in which order they will come to me… but I am putting my desires out there into the universe.

I hope the universe is listening, as I listen to it.