Single + Happy = Superpower

Funny how lately my (very intermittent) posts are all about relationships, because today I want to talk about being single. The topic came up yesterday when I had coffee with a relatively new widow (her husband died 2 years ago) who admitted that, while she misses her husband, she’s adjusting to her new life just fine, thank you very much. Not surprisingly, she is also an artist. So she was was already accustomed to spending large amounts of time by herself.

When the subject of dating came up, we both admitted to not being interested enough to go looking for someone. “Who has the time?” she shrugged. I agreed, “If it happens naturally, organically, and it’s easy, I’m all for it. But I’m not wasting time seeking out a partner. I have too much to do!”

It’s not just that we’re busy with our creative pursuits. It’s also that we don’t feel the need for a partner.

Personally, I’ve never been one of those people who always needs to be in a relationship. I’ve pretty much mastered the art of living alone and being perfectly content. My friend remarked that this is usually something men struggle with more than women, but I don’t know.

I know A LOT of people who are miserable alone. If they’re not in a relationship, they feel like there’s a void in their life, like they’re inadequate, and they’re lonely. Worse, like there’s something wrong with them.

I look at these people probably the same way the religious look at me – wishing they could understand and feel the amazingly empowering feeling of being single and happy. It’s like a superpower.

We all know the benefits of being in partnerships. But people don’t talk about how great it can be to be single too, especially as a woman. So, here goes.

When you’re single, you are in complete control of, and need not consult anyone else about, your time, your living space, your schedule, your finances, your body, your life. You are totally autonomous. An independent state. No discussions or compromising necessary. You want to do something, you do it. You don’t want to do something, you don’t. The only person you answer to is you.

Of course, the flip side is that The Only Person You Answer to is You! Some people don’t like that kind of pressure, they want to discuss things, get input, share the responsibilities, and so on. And I get it. When you’re single, you have those discussions with friends, family, and therapists.

When you’re single, you can focus on your passions without interruption and distraction, other than those of every day life (which can be significant). This is something I think about often.

I’ve always admired relationships between artists where there seemed to be a real symbiosis, where the artists respected each other’s work, and actually made it better. The couple that comes to mind is Joan Didion and her husband John Gregory Dunne (if you haven’t watched the documentary Joan Didion: The Center Will Not Hold, you should – here’s a review about it).

Of course, Didion and Dunne had their issues, but their partnership seems to have been one of immense respect, a partnership of equals. They were both writers. They edited each other’s work, supported and understood each other. They gave each other the requisite space to create. They worked in different ways, but also shared a similar rhythm. They spent lots of time apart, and then came together. They could exist in the same space without speaking, and they could also have long discussions. They cherished alone time, but were also quite social and threw (apparently wonderful) parties.

If I were ever to be in a relationship again, that is the type of relationship I would want. Anything less is just a waste of time and energy.

In the meantime, I’m rocking the single life and happy! I focus my energy on taking care of myself, my dog and my house, on being a good friend and a good community member, and on being as creatively productive as possible. I spend a lot of time by myself (with my dog), but I also socialize a lot, host frequent dinners, and make a point of keeping in touch with people.

I do not feel like I’m missing anything by not being in a relationship.

I had a great love, and I’m incredibly grateful for that. But now that I’m alone, I’m good (and as any of you who have followed this blog for a while, you know that did not happen overnight).

I do not need a companion to feel loved, valued, worthy, legitimate, or safe. I make myself feel those things, and in doing so I feel more powerful, more capable, and more content than ever.

There is power in the number one.

Can One Have a Family Without Drama?

There’s no other time of year that reminds you just how single and childless you are than the Holidays. Everybody else spends the Holidays with their partner, children, parents, siblings, grandparents, and/or in-laws. Single people like myself spend the Holidays with families too, just not our own families. Oh, we might be related to the people seated next to us at dinner, but we enter these family gatherings as a guest, and then we leave. Sometimes we leave feeling sad and pining for a family of our own. Other times, we leave feeling relieved and confident that we’re the lucky ones.

Lately, I’ve been debating which of these scenarios is more appropriate – having a family of my own, or being alone. I have mixed feelings about both.

Despite having a traumatic childhood, my idea of “family” has always been a positive one. My father was a volatile man, but also loving (in his own way), brilliant and extremely witty. My mother was calmer, a good listener, a pillar of emotional strength, creatively inspiring, and also funny. I would often tell her that I not only loved her, but I also liked her, which always made her smile. Likewise, if my siblings and I weren’t related and met as strangers, I’m sure we would still be friends. That’s a good feeling.

It was also a good feeling to have a partner, to love, to be loved, to be in love. It was a beautiful experience to be supported, to laugh with someone (to be able to make them laugh), to care for each other, to be able to confide, to share the wonders of life and discover new things together, to feel like we weren’t alone in this world, to know that we had each other’s back.

Not that being in a relationship was all roses and butterflies. In fact, it had its fair amount of drama, even before my late husband got sick.

Several months into our relationship, when we’d started letting our guards down a little more, I remember Kaz saying that he considered his Home a sanctuary and that all the world’s drama should stay outside (his diplomatic way of telling me to not bring my bad moods inside). I understood this on an intellectual level, and it sounded great, but it didn’t seem very practical.

Having grown up with all kinds of drama inside the home, I thought that was normal. Not necessarily extreme rage, violent outbursts, police being called, and people locking themselves in the bedroom for days, but the open expression of unhappiness and taking one’s bad moods out on others. I actually thought that’s what “home” meant – the freedom to shake off the shackles of societal pressures and behave any way you want. What a relief to come home and just be unhappy without pretending!

Suffice it to say, I don’t think like that anymore.

Growing up, being a caregiver, watching someone slowly die, dealing with multiple losses and years of grief, as well as years of living and writing alone, has all shifted my attitude. I don’t just want drama left outside my home, I want it as far away from me as possible.

It’s strange – all the aforementioned experiences have made me less prone to worry and less sensitive to insult, but far more sensitive to my immediate surroundings. Someone can break something in my house, and I won’t get upset. But if they raise their voice for any reason, I cringe.

I don’t like emotional outbursts, I don’t like complaining, I don’t like it when someone is moody, I don’t like loud noises, I don’t like negative tones of voice, I don’t like rudeness, I don’t like it when someone talks too much, and I really don’t like it when someone interrupts my work (which feels like an invasion of privacy).

I like peace and quiet. I like rooms with doors (that I can shut). I like being alone and not having to talk to anyone. I like having my own space. I need my space. I like being free. I like not having to deal with anything other than myself, my dog, my house, my work. (I’ve written about some of these themes before: protecting my head space, living the solitary life, and being alone vs. being lonely).

All of which brings me back to the central question: can one have a family without any drama? If not, is it better for someone like me to be alone? Or is some happy medium possible? Maybe separate offices, separate bedrooms, separate houses?

This reminds me of the painters/partners Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera who lived and worked in two houses that were joined by an elevated bridge. There’s actually a term for this kind of relationship now – it’s called Living Apart Together (LAT). And apparently, it’s growing more popular.

I know couples who live in the same house and have studios/offices on separate floors or away from the house altogether. I know couples who live in different cities. And, of course, there are couples who live in the same house, sleep in the same bed, work in the same office, and are perfectly fine despite being joined at the hip (I don’t get it).

I know families who are having all kinds of problems with their children: obesity, lack of appetite, anxiety, depression, personality disorders, drug problems, and more. And more than one couple that’s heading for divorce (the Pandemic has definitely not helped).

Maybe the answer is to find someone who doesn’t create or bring a lot of drama, and is wonderful enough to endure whatever drama arises. The right person will be someone who helps make it easier, not contributes to making it worse. Because, honestly, I don’t think life is possible without any drama.

Being alone might minimize it, but it’s certainly not a shield. As we all know, anything can happen at anytime. And living apart might help, but not necessarily (and might not always be possible).

Anyway, it’s worth thinking about. I hope to one day find the right situation, the right balance between togetherness and apartness, union and individuality, freedom and commitment. It would be sweet to host our own holiday gatherings, invite family to join us, and then to be left alone again. Alone but together.

The Museum, House and Studio of Diego Rivera and Friday Kahlo (photo source: Pawel Toczynski)

Gardening through Grief

My mother had chronic poor health her entire life, including as a child. She spent a lot of time alone, recuperating from one thing or another, often reading a book, or drawing, in her uncle’s enormous garden, which she described as a magical world of plants, birds, butterflies and critters. A refuge and sanctuary. Later in life, she would have her own small garden. I didn’t really get it when I was a child, but I did love to be out there with her. Today, I’m discovering gardening for myself, and how healing and meditative it is.

This summer was my first living in a house that I own, and my taking control of the environment began outside. I have a nice-sized yard, not too big or small, and I knew I wanted a garden.

First I did my research, and consulted gardening friends. Then I painted my garden shed (it used to be white with blue trim), and set up my first garden, a combination of raised bed for vegetables, several flowerbeds, and half a dozen pots.

I was out of town when I learned of my brother’s accident, and in those first anguished texts to friends, the one thing I asked for is that someone please water my garden.

I came home a few days later and spent that entire week trimming all the hedges that surround my property with hand clippers. I clipped every day for a couple of hours before and after work. One of my neighbors finally offered to lend me her electric hedge trimmer, but I declined, despite my hands and wrists being sore. I found it cathartic to snip the bushes manually. It was my way exerting a tiny bit of control, and releasing a little of my anger.

In the subsequent weeks, I’ve been mildly obsessive about the garden. I’m out there every morning with Ruby, checking on the plants, talking to them, encouraging them, weeding and watering them, adding support to the tomatoes, pruning their leaves.

When I’m working in the garden, I’m not thinking about anything else but the plants. I love putting my hands in the earth, the feeling of cool, moist soil, teeming with the little bugs and worms. It’s like feeling Life itself.

I love watching the plants grow and develop. It’s a slow process which requires patience, but if you pay attention, you do notice differences day to day. Especially after it rains, which it’s been doing a lot lately. And, of course, eating anything you grow is nothing short of miraculous.

Equally fascinating is how the plants react not only to the weather, but also to different environments… some better in pots, others better in soil, and still, others, seem to thrive when next to other plants, or when they’re moved to a different spot.

My basil was near death until I moved it into a larger pot; now it’s as big as a bush. My mint was fragile and gangly until I moved it to the garden bed. Now it’s lush and healthy.

The process inspires me with hope.

I feel connected to the plants, like we have a relationship of sorts. I sense that they have some kind of consciousness, and they like being attended to. Sometimes I gently run my fingers over their leaves, just to let them know that I’m here.

I love inspecting the flowers and herbs. This one looks like a piece of art to me. I still can’t get over how beautiful it is.

Occasionally, I pick them and bring them inside. I send photos of the bouquets to my sister and sister in law… “virtual flowers for you.”

It turns out there is such a thing as gardening therapy. As this article about Horticultural therapists points out, “research has shown that the flexible nature of gardening projects allows service users to feel empowered in a non-threatening space. It also helps develop nurturing skills and is thought to boost mindfulness, as well as increasing serotonin and dopamine levels.”

It makes total sense. Gardening is nurturing. Expressive. Creative. It’s also a community. I’ve made new friends, mostly older than I am, who are avid gardeners. They give me advice, and they give me plants, both (I’ve discovered) part of the tradition of gardening.

Now I have to think of what to do with my brother’s ashes, where to put them in the garden. I’m thinking of planting a tree or bush, but not sure which one yet.

In the meantime, I’m already starting to think about how I’ll do things differently next year, where I will move plants, which ones I will give away, and which ones to buy new. It’s nice to have something to look forward to.

Do you have a garden?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

The Dividing Lines of Loss

A few weeks ago, at a party to ring in the New Year, I entered for the first time the home of a woman whom I’ve only recently begun to know. I’d heard that she was a fairly recent widow (she lost her husband a few years ago), but it wasn’t until I attended this party that I got a sense of her late husband. Besides the fact that there were books and knick-knacks that clearly belonged to him still on the bookshelves, many people mentioned him to me. “Did you know ____?” they asked. When I said no, they sighed and shared a small memory. One person told me that he was a lot of fun, had a great sense of humor, and always lit up the room. Another person said he was “the consummate gentleman.” A third person told me the last time they saw him, he’d ordered a martini and joked about it possibly being his last because you just never know.

Even though it was a joyous party, I couldn’t help but feel the presence of his absence… a man whom most people at this party knew and missed, and whom I found myself wishing I could have met. The evening reminded me of a particularly painful but somewhat subtler aspect of loss that is sometimes overlooked… the loss of being able to share the person with others.

When my mother died, I used to categorize people into two groups: People Who Knew Her vs. People Who Had Not Known Her. I lost her when I was 22, so the first group was comprised mostly of family members, friends of the family, and childhood friends who used to casually say hi to her when they’d come over for sleep-overs, or when she was heading out to grocery shop while we hung out. To this day, these people are dearer to me than I can articulate, and the bond I feel towards them is palatable.

To the second group (people who did not know her), I would always try to explain who she was. Once when I was working abroad for a short period during our first year together, I wrote Kaz a long letter describing my mother:

My mom is on my mind tonight. I really wish you could have met her.  It’s always tough when I meet new people that I care about, and I can’t introduce them to her or vice-versa. To not be able to share my mother with someone I love really hurts. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to introduce her to you now. I mean, I know I’ve talked about her before, but I’m not sure if I’ve accurately described who she was. 

She had a great sense of humor, and was goofy like me. I think we would all have laughed together a lot. She was young at heart, open-minded and curious about the world. She loved to travel, meet new people and experience new things. When I was a kid, she was always dragging me to some new place to visit, an art exhibition or museum or independent movie theater. She was an avid reader, and LOVED music. She would have loved that you know so much about music and have access to it.  

She was a great role model in many ways, not the least of which in how to deal with adversity, how to keep going no matter what, how to not give up hope, how to “maintain” like you’re always telling me (she would have loved that motto).  She went through so much—her body was frail—but her will was incredibly strong. Maybe that’s why I’m thinking of her now. I’m so stressed out and wish I could call her and hear her voice. She actually spoke in somewhat of a whisper due to the multiple tracheotomies during her heart surgeries. Each one messed with her vocal chords, so she really only had a “voice” in the morning, or after naps, the rest of time it was a whisper. 

Whenever I was down, she would tell me to “think happy thoughts,” or she’d encourage me to draw something, or write a story. She was always encouraging me to express myself and write about what I know. She was a great listener too. It was one of her greatest attributes, that she could listen without judgment and give good advice. And she was so loving. Even when we didn’t get along, I knew that she loved me and would always love me, no matter what. I know that you and I grew up differently—me with siblings, you as an only child—but on this we can relate, no? Our mothers were there for us through thick and thin (when our fathers were not). They loved us unconditionally and were the people that we could always count on. 

I’ll be honest. Sometimes I feel jealous of you because your mother is still alive. You’re so lucky. Losing my mom was, and still is, the biggest thing that has ever happened to me, and I miss her every day. The pain of losing her never really goes away. It just subsides, so that it’s not at the surface. I hope you don’t mind me sharing all of this you. I know she would have loved you, and vice-versa. Anyway, thanks for listening…

Kaz’s death, three years after I wrote that letter, created another dividing line. Like with my mother, the people who knew him hold a special place in my heart. The few people who knew both my mother and Kaz… well, they are the rare gems in my life.

Maybe because of these losses, I’m more sensitive to the desire that I see in others to share the essence of their lost loved ones. I recognize the urge to try and communicate who the person was, what they were about, how they sounded, dressed, moved. Like the  person who invited me into their home recently and revealed a guest bedroom they’d decorated specifically to honor their late mother. Maybe that sounds strange to some, but I totally got it. Walking into this room, which even smells different than other rooms in the house, I immediately sensed the essence of a feminine, kind-hearted, intelligent, classy woman… a lady in every sense of the word. I was moved by the care in which the room had been lovingly put together, every detail considered, and my heart surged with compassion for the person who’d created it.

We all struggle to keep our loved ones alive in some way… if not alive, then at least remembered. Parents try to explain to their children who their grandparents were… show them photos, tell them stories. It’s never satisfying enough. Nothing can sum up the whole of a person, and often people don’t have the patience to listen. But we do what we can, learn to accept the limitations… and perhaps (if we’re lucky) we find other ways to express the person’s character.

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.

 

 

Hiatus No More

Hello? Anybody out there? It’s me, Niva.

It’s been seven months since my last blog post. A very dramatic seven months, indeed. I moved from the rural area I once lived in to a small town; I started a second PT job, buried my father’s ashes, and have become more involved in local issues and politics.

And I still haven’t been writing.

Some of my new friends don’t even know I am a writer. Many don’t know about the situation that brought me to upstate NY in the first place, the loss and trauma that proceeded that move. I don’t go around talking about it, so why would anyone know unless they ask? Even when they do ask, I tend to answer in vague terms.

I told myself that I’m on a writing hiatus because I need to “live life” for a little while, which is all well and good… except what the hell is the point of life if I’m not writing? That’s what I do. And I miss it.

There have been signs here and there that I need to get back to it. Take, for instance, this conversation I had with a woman – let’s call her J – around the beginning of the year.

We were engaged in a business meeting when J unexpectedly said, “Do you mind if I share something personal with you? I know we just met, and I don’t usually do this, but I read some of your writing online and feel like you would understand.”

“Go ahead,” I told her.

“I haven’t even told some of my closest friends… but my husband was recently diagnosed with Stage IV ___ cancer.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said quietly, trying to keep pity out of my voice.

“Can I ask you some questions? I don’t know who else to talk to,” she said.

Of course, ask away, I told her.

She proceeded to ask me numerous questions about Kaz… how had I handled the news of his diagnosis, how involved was I with his care,  what was his mood like, how had I kept him motivated, how long did he fight it, when did he start to accept the inevitable, when did I accept the inevitable, was I there when he died, what was that moment like, how had the whole experience affected my life, how long did it take for things to feel “normal” again… and more.

As I answered all her questions, in the back of my mind I was thinking, you are who I’m writing my book for. In fact, I wished I could have just handed her my book and said, “Read this. All the answers are inside.”

Answering her questions brought me back to memories and moments that I hadn’t thought about it a long time. It took some effort to recall them without getting emotional, and I didn’t want to get emotional because it wasn’t about me, it was about her (I was relieved that she didn’t get emotional either).

Her expression was actually one of wonder, and intense listening. She was clearly hungry for information, which made my heart ache. I remember being in her shoes, painfully curious about what the future held,  desperate to speak to someone who could illuminate all the dark corners, hungry for answers in what was a perpetual state of not knowing.

I left our meeting feeling raw and somewhat drained, and sad for what this couple was going through, but also inspired. I told myself that when I returned to writing, I would keep this woman in my thoughts… and write to her.

It also occurred to me that maybe I haven’t been writing lately because I don’t want to “go back” there anymore. I wanted to focus on the present and the future, and take a break from the past.

Then the other day I met another woman who had left New York City several years ago to be her mother’s caregiver… her mother had had the same type of brain tumor as Kaz and succumbed to it nine months after diagnosis.

When we discovered this huge thing in common, it was like a light went off behind both of our eyes. We hardly knew each other, and yet we instantly knew so very much about one another. As she put it, it’s rare to meet another person who has witnessed, and been intimately  involved with, the slow decline of a loved one, especially to an illness that affects the neurological system.

“People need to hear your story,” she told me. “Why did you stop writing?”

I explained to her my theory about wanting to live life and not keep going back to the past, but even as I said the words, I knew the hiatus was over.

Another impetus has been the election.

There is so much divisiveness and negativity in the non-stop news cycle these days, and so little empathy and compassion for one another, even less so for the marginalized. I find myself wondering about all the aspects of life that transcend politics, rhetoric and differences. Where are the voices that will bring us together? And what can I do personally to make a difference?

Well, this is it. I have thought about this blog so much, about you the readers, and my fellow bloggers. And I’m here to say that the bitch is back.

Looking forward to catching up with you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

Don’t Call it a Shrine (Living with a Loved One’s Things)

“What do I do with their things?” is one of the biggest dilemmas faced by those who have lost loved ones. At first, it might feel sacrilege to give anything away, or change anything about their closet or room. After a while, there’s this growing pressure to do something. But do what? And when? How long is too long to keep things just the way they were? How soon is too soon to change them?

The answer is… there is no answer. It’s up to the individual, and what feels right.

After my late husband Kaz died, I made the unusual move of immediately giving away some his belongings to friends and family. If someone asked for something, I gave it to them without question, and without really thinking about it.

I saw his possessions as little pieces of him, and at the time, I saw giving his things away like spreading him around, seed-like. Later, I wished I had waited and thought about it a little more, but there was no going back. And there was still A LOT of stuff left.

In the years that followed, I gave away more things – some that he had specifically bequeathed, others that I thought he would want certain people to have. For example, he had drawn several designs for a “Mom” tattoo that he never actually got. I framed the drawings and sent them to his mother on her birthday.

I tried to give his favorite clothes (especially his favorite shoes) to people I knew, but I still ended up with several shopping bags, some of which I gave to Goodwill.

Most people were supportive of my decisions, but a couple people expressed dismay. They didn’t deter me. In general, I tuned out the naysayers and drama-makers while I was grieving, and still do to this day.

Of course, I didn’t give everything away. I kept the things that meant the most to me, things that reminded me of Kaz and embodied his energy. I still have clothing, books, artwork, music, films and knick-knacks that belonged to Kaz… some of which I keep in my home office, behind my chair. I call it Kaz’s Corner.

When I Skype with people, this is what they see in the background.

Kaz’s corner in morning light

The opposite side of the office, my desk area, looks like this.

That framed motorcycle print is the one that Kaz had up in his office, and the Yohimbe Brothers album cover to the left was on the bathroom wall in our old apartment.

On the shelf below are more of his things, as well as my mother’s. She was an artist, so I’m lucky to have things that she made, including artwork and pottery. Below is a mug that I use to drink tea, and (in the background) a bowl that I use to hold pens. Her artwork is in every room.

mug made by my mom

While there are things that belonged to Kaz and my mom all over the house, my office holds the highest concentration. This is where I want their spirits around me the most – the place where I’m the most creative and do my best thinking.

It’s no surprise that the office is my favorite room. It’s where I feel the most like me. It’s  private and warm. In it, I feel protected, loved and safe… which gives me the wherewithall to write and live courageously.

This year I’m taking on a new job and a lot of new responsibilities, while at the same time exploring deeper issues in my writing. I’m grateful to have this safe space, where my muses and guardian angel spirits keep me company.

Please share how you have incorporated your loved one’s things into your daily life. I think it helps people to know how others deal with this.

 

 

 

Looking Back / Looking Forward

It’s been a crazy busy fall/winter, partly because of Ruby’s injury and the fundraising effort for her surgery (thank you to those of you who donated!!). So, I’m a little late with this traditional end-of-year post, but better late than never.

Looking back… 2015 was a difficult year, but also a rewarding one. It was my first full year living in New York, and my first year working full-time as a freelance writer. Then, at the end of the year, I found myself facing several large expenses, including Ruby’s surgery and getting my car repaired after colliding with a deer in October. But I managed to overcome.

In 2015, I…

– Survived winter! No small feat after living 19 years in Los Angeles.

– Met a lot of people by being outgoing and getting a part-time job at a popular farm-to-table cafe, something I wrote about in this post. I feel very fortunate to have made a few solid friends here.

– Was invited back to Los Angeles as a guest panelist on Death and Loss:  Women Writing Out Loud workshop at BinderCon, a symposium for women writers.

– Was interviewed about my experience as a newlywed widow by Nancy Redd on HuffPost Live.

– Made over 50% of my income from freelance writing and editing.

– Applied and was accepted to several professional groups: The American Society of Journalists and Authors, Gotham Ghostwriters, The Director’s List, and Film Fatales (two groups for women directors).

– Took a writing workshop with Linda Schreyer called Slipper Camp that prompted me to write several essays (highly recommend to anyone wanting to jumpstart their writing).

– Saw my name in print four times in Upstate House Magazine.

– Founded WriteUP New York, a collective of freelance writers living in upstate New York (email me or find us on Facebook if you’re interested in joining!).

– Took a Branded Content writing workshop with the incredible David Hochman and wrote four branded content articles that will publish on Huffington Post in 2016.

– Reported my first same-day story, about a local town that just overturned its ban on alcohol. What a thrill to report, write, file and get published within 24 hours!

– Learned how to use a power drill and built my first do-it-yourself project (I’ve since built two more things!).

– Enhanced my photography skills, my other new hobby.

– Raised over $2500 for my dog’s surgery.

– Became one with my motorcycle with over 1000 miles of riding through gorgeous upstate New York.

But the really big news is that at the end of 2015, I got a new part-time job.

I am the new Visual Arts Director of Greene County Council on the Arts (more on that later). In this job, I’m responsible for the visual arts program and gallery at the arts council, which is located in Catskill, across the river from Hudson, NY. It’s a great opportunity for me to use all of my skills in one place, as well as to meet more people in the community, especially creative people. It’s also a steady source of income that will be very helpful as I continue to build my freelance career.

In anticipation of how busy I’m about to be, I decided to cut my hair into a style that requires zero maintenance. 🙂

Looking forward, in 2016, I plan to:

– Kick ass in my new job.

– Renew my passport and travel abroad again, even if it’s to Canada (only a six hour-drive away).

– Get fit and strong with a daily yoga practice.

– Get published in more, and more higher-paying, publications.

– Write a screenplay.

Happy New Year!! Let’s ROCK 2016!