Monday, January 10, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
life changing change
Yesterday morning, while having coffee with a friend, we spent a lot of time talking about potential change. Going back to a conventional job versus staying home with kids, what that juggle might be like, how we felt about where we are, where we could be, where we should be. And then, as we were walking home, we ran into another friend who looked stricken as we said hello. On the verge of tears. She'd found out the day before that her best friend had breast cancer.
Boom.
The trajectory of that woman's life changed in one sentence. Nothing would ever be the same. Out of nowhere she, her husband, her kids, her parents, her support system were plunged into the unexpected, the unknown, a dark, scary place where there were no guarantees everything would be ok in the end.
To be honest, no one can ever know all will work out but we live (or at least I do) in this place where we can pretend to have control.
We don't. Not really.
Not at all.
Another friend of mine lost his apartment this week. The recession hit him hard and he can't afford to keep his home. After years he's starting completely over. He'd tried, for too long, to maintain that everything was fine while his foundation was being worn out from under him.
I too, am standing on a precipice. It's not coming out of nowhere—I'm choosing this road instead of it choosing me. No, actually, it's not that black and white. I'm not choosing this out of nowhere. I'm choosing it because I have no choice. There's no way I couldn't give my brother a kidney. Put more plainly, of course my kidney is his.
Of course.
But this road is fraught with unknowns. My first physical is next week. It could be that I'm a relatively healthy 46 year old. It also could be that there's all sorts of stuff going on in my body I don't know about. Yet. But soon I will. And after all that gets sorted out, once I have the green light to move forward, once we're tested and matched and tested again, once we're in the hospital and prepped for surgery, I still won't know. I won't know until I wake up whether I'll have one kidney or two. My brother's body is so compromised they won't know until they open him up whether he'll have room for a new organ.
All this could lead to nothing. Or a life, two lives, could be drastically, dramatically changed.
Whew.
Life smacks you in the head sometimes and leaves you reeling. But, still, it's better than the alternative.
Boom.
The trajectory of that woman's life changed in one sentence. Nothing would ever be the same. Out of nowhere she, her husband, her kids, her parents, her support system were plunged into the unexpected, the unknown, a dark, scary place where there were no guarantees everything would be ok in the end.
To be honest, no one can ever know all will work out but we live (or at least I do) in this place where we can pretend to have control.
We don't. Not really.
Not at all.
Another friend of mine lost his apartment this week. The recession hit him hard and he can't afford to keep his home. After years he's starting completely over. He'd tried, for too long, to maintain that everything was fine while his foundation was being worn out from under him.
I too, am standing on a precipice. It's not coming out of nowhere—I'm choosing this road instead of it choosing me. No, actually, it's not that black and white. I'm not choosing this out of nowhere. I'm choosing it because I have no choice. There's no way I couldn't give my brother a kidney. Put more plainly, of course my kidney is his.
Of course.
But this road is fraught with unknowns. My first physical is next week. It could be that I'm a relatively healthy 46 year old. It also could be that there's all sorts of stuff going on in my body I don't know about. Yet. But soon I will. And after all that gets sorted out, once I have the green light to move forward, once we're tested and matched and tested again, once we're in the hospital and prepped for surgery, I still won't know. I won't know until I wake up whether I'll have one kidney or two. My brother's body is so compromised they won't know until they open him up whether he'll have room for a new organ.
All this could lead to nothing. Or a life, two lives, could be drastically, dramatically changed.
Whew.
Life smacks you in the head sometimes and leaves you reeling. But, still, it's better than the alternative.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Today was an old-fashioned, juggling, various pieces of my life colliding kind of morning.
After walking the dog, getting 2 kids out and to school, and having a super quick coffee and even quicker conversations with various friends I hadn't seen since before the winter break, I had a FLOW documentary brainstorming session with several writers and producers, one of whom is an old friend, someone I adore but hadn't seen in awhile. After the meeting we spent time catching each other up and in a matter of minutes we touched on cancer, breakups, breakdowns, death, parenting, work, and kidney donations.
There's been a lot going on.
Head-shaking, daunting, soul-shattering stuff going on.
We sighed. We empathized. We nodded our heads like 2 little old ladies sitting out on a stoop in the Bronx, wearing babushkas, sharing the drama and illnesses and challenges we'd be living with.
In spite of everything we're both relatively ok. Dealing with what is. Appreciating where we are. Hoping the worst is over.
It's life and it's not always easy. Sometimes it's impossibly, painfully, heart-crushingly hard.
then went yoga where the theme was all about letting of of expectations and the challenges of being. Just being. After a lovely class that ended with a heavenly shivasana I had a remarkable conversation with my teacher about being present and letting go of trying so hard/too hard to get there.
From there I headed home where my puppy was waiting for me. I scratched her belly until we were both blissed.
Yes, it was quite the morning. Full of connection, movement, emotion, thoughtfulness, creativity, love, enlightenment, sympathy, pain.
My life is so extraordinarily full. Sometimes all I can do is step back and take it all in. Sometimes I'm swimming in it, drowning in it, barely able to stay on top of the water. Sometimes I'm so overwhelmed by it all, all I can do is sleep more than usual to keep from losing it.
I'm feeling anxiety creep in.
I'm scared of the road I'm on. There are times I can hold onto being in the moment and letting go of expectations, of the future, of control, but the truth is that more often I want to, need to know everything will be ok. That I'll be ok. That all will be fine in the end.
I once wrote something called "The Everything is Fine Book" and that's the mantra I need to hear when life gets to be too much.
Everything is fine.
And truly, everything is fine. Or at least it is the way it is and one can fight it or be fine with it.
I'm working on the being fine part.
After walking the dog, getting 2 kids out and to school, and having a super quick coffee and even quicker conversations with various friends I hadn't seen since before the winter break, I had a FLOW documentary brainstorming session with several writers and producers, one of whom is an old friend, someone I adore but hadn't seen in awhile. After the meeting we spent time catching each other up and in a matter of minutes we touched on cancer, breakups, breakdowns, death, parenting, work, and kidney donations.
There's been a lot going on.
Head-shaking, daunting, soul-shattering stuff going on.
We sighed. We empathized. We nodded our heads like 2 little old ladies sitting out on a stoop in the Bronx, wearing babushkas, sharing the drama and illnesses and challenges we'd be living with.
In spite of everything we're both relatively ok. Dealing with what is. Appreciating where we are. Hoping the worst is over.
It's life and it's not always easy. Sometimes it's impossibly, painfully, heart-crushingly hard.
then went yoga where the theme was all about letting of of expectations and the challenges of being. Just being. After a lovely class that ended with a heavenly shivasana I had a remarkable conversation with my teacher about being present and letting go of trying so hard/too hard to get there.
From there I headed home where my puppy was waiting for me. I scratched her belly until we were both blissed.
Yes, it was quite the morning. Full of connection, movement, emotion, thoughtfulness, creativity, love, enlightenment, sympathy, pain.
My life is so extraordinarily full. Sometimes all I can do is step back and take it all in. Sometimes I'm swimming in it, drowning in it, barely able to stay on top of the water. Sometimes I'm so overwhelmed by it all, all I can do is sleep more than usual to keep from losing it.
I'm feeling anxiety creep in.
I'm scared of the road I'm on. There are times I can hold onto being in the moment and letting go of expectations, of the future, of control, but the truth is that more often I want to, need to know everything will be ok. That I'll be ok. That all will be fine in the end.
I once wrote something called "The Everything is Fine Book" and that's the mantra I need to hear when life gets to be too much.
Everything is fine.
And truly, everything is fine. Or at least it is the way it is and one can fight it or be fine with it.
I'm working on the being fine part.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Monday, January 3, 2011
Home is where the hot water bottle is
Last night, after a mind and body numbing day of travel, of cars and buses and planes, of endless sitting in cramped spaces, I slid into bed at 10, too exhausted to do anything but gratefully lie there.
I had a moment. A delicious, blissful moment. My sheets were soft and smooth from countless washings. I was surrounded by fuzzy pillows and blankets (both something my family can't live without). And as I burrowed down my toes hit my almost burning hot hot water bottle.
I intended to read for a bit but I was so happy, so cozy, so comfortable I laid there letting the warmth seep in.
I was home.
No matter how lovely a vacation is, I'm always so happy to be back home. To drive through NYC in the twilight, street lights reflecting on the wet sidewalks. To breathe the crisp, fresh air. This time, for the first time, to open the door and see a super happy puppy literally vibrating with excitement. To walk crowded sidewalks knowing I'd find a good cup of coffee. To hear the noises of the street as I fall asleep.
Dorothy was right about this one.
I had a moment. A delicious, blissful moment. My sheets were soft and smooth from countless washings. I was surrounded by fuzzy pillows and blankets (both something my family can't live without). And as I burrowed down my toes hit my almost burning hot hot water bottle.
I intended to read for a bit but I was so happy, so cozy, so comfortable I laid there letting the warmth seep in.
I was home.
No matter how lovely a vacation is, I'm always so happy to be back home. To drive through NYC in the twilight, street lights reflecting on the wet sidewalks. To breathe the crisp, fresh air. This time, for the first time, to open the door and see a super happy puppy literally vibrating with excitement. To walk crowded sidewalks knowing I'd find a good cup of coffee. To hear the noises of the street as I fall asleep.
Dorothy was right about this one.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Vacation take aways
I wrote this yesterday but had no Internet connection to post with. And so, while I'm sitting in the dark, docked at port, not yet ready to gear up for a big travel day, I'm happy to relive yesterday for a moment or two:
I'm lying here, on a heated chaise, water from the fountains trickling quietly, nothing but ocean and clouds and blue sky and warm sunshine beyond the floor to celling windows.
I was drifting in and out of empty, a gratifying place to be for me Vacation take aways
I'm lying here, on a heated chaise, water from the fountains trickling quietly, nothing but ocean and clouds and blue sky and warm sunshine beyond the floor to celling windows.
I was drifting in and out of empty, a gratifying place to be for me as it can so often be so hard to get to. But thoughts kept cropping up at the edges. More actually appreciations and I wanted to make them more concrete before they slipped away.
My parents are remarkable. I am so grateful for them and I don't tell them that enough. They love me so whole-heartedly, they make things possible that otherwise wouldn't be, they are accepting and supportive and thoughtful.
I'm better at doing nothing than I thought I was.
The older I get, the less things bother me.
My kids have remarkable manners.
My clothes will soon be shared with a child of mine who already looks better in them than I do.
I can still pull off a bikini.
My body lets me know when it's had enough.
I finally learned all I need on a cruise are comfy pants and a long sleeved t shirt.
Whipped cream in coffee is heavenly.
I can survive without technology.
I'm getting better at letting go of the illusion of control.
Zeppoles stuffed with raisins are far more delicious than one could possibly imagine.
And I'm starting 2011 with no concrete resolutions except to walk up 10 flights of stairs once a day.
I'm lying here, on a heated chaise, water from the fountains trickling quietly, nothing but ocean and clouds and blue sky and warm sunshine beyond the floor to celling windows.
I was drifting in and out of empty, a gratifying place to be for me Vacation take aways
I'm lying here, on a heated chaise, water from the fountains trickling quietly, nothing but ocean and clouds and blue sky and warm sunshine beyond the floor to celling windows.
I was drifting in and out of empty, a gratifying place to be for me as it can so often be so hard to get to. But thoughts kept cropping up at the edges. More actually appreciations and I wanted to make them more concrete before they slipped away.
My parents are remarkable. I am so grateful for them and I don't tell them that enough. They love me so whole-heartedly, they make things possible that otherwise wouldn't be, they are accepting and supportive and thoughtful.
I'm better at doing nothing than I thought I was.
The older I get, the less things bother me.
My kids have remarkable manners.
My clothes will soon be shared with a child of mine who already looks better in them than I do.
I can still pull off a bikini.
My body lets me know when it's had enough.
I finally learned all I need on a cruise are comfy pants and a long sleeved t shirt.
Whipped cream in coffee is heavenly.
I can survive without technology.
I'm getting better at letting go of the illusion of control.
Zeppoles stuffed with raisins are far more delicious than one could possibly imagine.
And I'm starting 2011 with no concrete resolutions except to walk up 10 flights of stairs once a day.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Heaven
I'm lying in a hammock that's strung between 2 palm trees, coconuts ripening overhead, sunlight breaking through the heavy fronds. Waves are breaking onshore, the water varying shades of turquoise, cobalt, teal. The sky is dappled with marshmallow clouds. Peacocks, with their own range of brilliant blues and greens, are wandering so close by I could reach out and touch one (not that I ever would).
The sand is white. The shells are plentiful.
There's a sense of relative emptiness compared to the overcrowding we've found on other places.
After days of not getting into our groove today more than makes up for it.
I will go home warm with Mexican beaches and sun and the raw beauty of shells adorning trees mired in the surf.
I am happy.
Smiling.
Grateful.
The sand is white. The shells are plentiful.
There's a sense of relative emptiness compared to the overcrowding we've found on other places.
After days of not getting into our groove today more than makes up for it.
I will go home warm with Mexican beaches and sun and the raw beauty of shells adorning trees mired in the surf.
I am happy.
Smiling.
Grateful.
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