Author: mimijk

Woman of a certain age…mom, wife, grandmom, sister, friend, mentor, advisor, perpetual ponderer. “I get up every morning determined to both change the world and have one hell of a good time. Sometimes this makes planning difficult” (E.B. White)
life lessons, music

Paying Attention

mimijk

Hi,

Not sure if you’re still here – if not, I totally get it, and if so – thank you for stopping by even though there is no rhyme or reason to the frequency of these posts.  First and foremost, how the heck are you?  What are you doing with your days that bring you delight without caveats?  Any epiphanies worth sharing with your Jewish pal over here (and yes, I think those in my tribe can have epiphanies too, of a kind)?  Thoughts that keep rolling around that you’d like to share (not mean-spirited stuff though, ok)?

There’s been little going on outside my head, given that I’m one of those immuno-compromised folks who are encouraged to adopt a hermetic existence until further notice.  I do try to follow the instructions – until I don’t want to follow them anymore (like when I stole all the Brownie merit badges out of my 2nd grade teacher’s desk, ’cause I wanted the swag, just not the stuff you had to do to get them).  I guess that makes me pseudo-compliant.

(And clearly a lover of the parenthetical)

So, here I sit with far more activity going on in my head than there was pre-pandemic.  To catch you up – Tom Brady retired and the bigotry in football management ranks is appalling; everything Lin-Manuel Miranda touches is gold – full stop; I despair over the amount of vitriol in the world; it feels like it is fomenting and growing more and more poisonous – a social virus.  Dave says it’s like we’re eating each other, some cannibalistic mindset that is fueled by polarizations and egocentric voices who have little good to say.  I’m trying to temper myself, for inside my temper is off the charts.  

And none of that is what I’m really thinking about right now.  My dad would have been 98 a few days ago.  I whispered happy birthday wishes to him and perhaps he was looking for a bit more.  A ginormous cardinal has been hanging out in our backyard for days; as I write this he is literally sitting on the retaining wall looking at me looking at him.  Dad loved to identify birds, and frankly I think he would wing it (ha! pun intended) and make up some non-existent species because if he said it, we’d buy it.  A message from the universe?  I don’t know – but there’s more…

I grew up singing, as you know.  One of my favorite singers to watch was Peggy Lee (pre-dating Streisand, Minnelli, Midler, etc).  My parents each had their song of choice – dad would sing ‘Fever’; mom would croon soulfully ‘Is That All There Is’  – a certain musical insight about both of them.  I gravitated to ‘Fever’ – even though I had no idea what I was singing about, the lyrics were easy and  I could snap my fingers.  There was something so sad about mom’s choice, even though the song encourages one to ‘break out the booze and have a ball’.  Party first, ponder later.

Why is this pertinent?  There was a segment about Peggy Lee on CBS Sunday Morning, and there she was, frozen in time singing as she did, without moving a muscle, yet emoting so much.  Fever.

And then a friend who seems to know me well without ever having met me, sent me a book recommendation “Lost and Found” by Kathyrn Schulz.  When I asked him why he though of me after reading it, he responded because of “her relationship to her father.  And yours.”.  I am in the middle of reading it, laughing, crying over some really dumb things, and nodding with an awareness of losses that are just rolled up into the very essence of who we become over time.

Now you tell me?  The convergence of all these messages right around his birthday – what is one to think?  Whether or not it’s all coincidence or kismet, star alignments or just the need to wish him a happy birthday, it brought me to this empty space deserving to be filled.  I’m going to try and see if I can offer up anything more – perhaps thoughts of more universal interest – in the days to come.  In the meantime, be well, hug everyone you can.

life lessons

Today

mimijk

Twenty years ago today, I was in our offices in midtown Manhattan. I hesitate to write about my memories of that day, for my story is unremarkable when compared to those who lived and died, loved and lost. My story is of someone on the periphery – who wandered through the city in a state of horror and disbelief, too stunned to cry.

I remember the smell; this massive cloud of ash and dirt consuming the bluest of skies. People hugging each other as they walked to the bridges that would take them closer to their homes. And those who just wandered, unsure where their feet would take them, each step once so assumed, now tentative and aimless. Sirens and silence, silence and sirens.

A woman’s hysterical efforts to reach her daughter at One World Trade, and the way she collapsed when she finally heard her voice. The plans being put in place for me to travel to each of our offices (each one in a building that was considered high risk for future attacks). Retrospectively it seems bizarre that I flew across the US and Europe – a nod to our need to comfort and console. It was part of our firm’s culture back then. And in each city, the empty streets, the unspoken anxiety, the fear and the personalization of loss too large to really comprehend. My son called me when I was in LA – he enlisted. I stopped breathing until he came home. He came home.

(I remember watching the members of the Senate holding hands and singing on the steps of the Capitol. We are terrific when our foes are outside our borders; we can’t seem to get a collective grip when handling our internal threats. We are so reckless with our hubris – damn).

I didn’t lose anyone I knew on September 11th and all those tragic stories are not mine to tell. So many heroes, so many lives, so many loves – and I still listen with a humble reverence as the bell tolls. And I’m embarrassed that I felt like writing all this down.

Haruki Murakami wrote that “Memories warm you up on the inside. But they also tear you apart.”

life lessons

For You

mimijk

Hi my friend,

I came across this card the other day and wanted to send it to you…and you…and you..and keep it for myself as well. The inside flap is blank, but on the front of the card, the following is printed without attribution-

“‘Finding yourself’ is not really how it works. You aren’t a ten-dollar bill in last winter’s coat pocket. You are also not lost. Your true self is right there, buried under cultural conditioning, other people’s opinions, and inaccurate conclusions you drew as a kid that became your beliefs about who you are. ‘Finding yourself’ is actually returning to yourself. An unlearning, an excavation, a remembering who you were before the world got its hands on you.”

Bam.

The thought of emotional excavation seems like a Herculean lift. Perhaps you find it easier to avoid the process – totally understandable, if a little lazy. Perhaps you fear what’s at the real core – although I have a feeling that the core is undoubtedly fantastic. Admittedly, we all dig a bit, we all have a hazy picture of who we are, but when we have to let go of the protections we have built, we stop. Far too much of a risk, maybe.

Here’s what I know – none of us are that good, and all of us are perfectly imperfect. None of us have arrived at adulthood without totally pissing some people off, stepping on our tongues unintentionally (and intentionally I guess), wishing for a few do-overs, and making emotional negotiations that may or may not be healthy. We all rationalize what we shouldn’t and overthink what isn’t in our control anyway.

We marvel at birdsong, look breathlessly at Dave’s photos (davidkanigan.com), weep at the thought of how we have punished the earth, love so hard it can make the heart truly ache and if we’re even slightly self-aware, know that we have been mysteriously blessed with precious people and moments in our lives. We are boastful and insecure; indignant and tentative. And at core, at that hidden core – there’s a lot worthy of a good look and a lot of forgiveness.

Maybe it’s time to unpack a bit, lighten the load and see what’s at the heart of your heart. You will be happily surprised at what you find. Go ahead – you can take the risk. Love, m

https://youtu.be/mSfH2AuhXfw

life lessons

Either/Or

mimijk

Hi Dave,

For whatever reason, your post this morning served as a kick in the butt and encouraged me to send up a signal. I’m still here with a site of my own, which I have neglected for months and months – I suppose I ran out of things to say (really, I did)…You have spoken for me and for many many more (DK’s site davidkanigan.com is a MUST) – and I am grateful. And when you have no words, you have photos that have an amazing vocabulary.

“I get up every morning determined to both change the world and have one hell of a good time. Sometimes this makes planning my day difficult.” – E.B. White

This has been my mantra and my excuse. My day starts with the best of intentions and quickly devolves into some shapeless passage of time. Doesn’t mean it hasn’t been a decent day of sorts – it’s just that the emphasis is on the amorphous quality to the passage of time…

Anyway, here’s what I was thinking, my friend…I’ve always been an either/or kinda person. It’s great or it sucks. I am happy or I’m not. The world is beautiful or reflects the most abhorrent, awful neglect imaginable. Let’s just say it makes for an unrealistic set-up of sorts.

When I was in grad school, one of my professors challenged this position, and it remains with me still. He asked me if someone can be both strong and weak; can the world be magnificent and hideous; can we live with perpetual dichotomy. Well, when he put it to me that way…

I am secure and scared; well-intended with a sharp tongue; humbled by the cardinals dancing in our backyard and full of self-deprecation when I forget to recycle. I don’t compost and I use only environmentally friendly ingredients in the garden. I am funny and I cry at Hallmark commercials. I am self-critical and feel the need to pat myself on the back some days.

One need not look far to see horror, to see people behaving in ways that are completely antithetical to saving the planet, saving each other, offering grace. One need not look far to see valor and commitment and tenderness, to hear giggles and music, to articulate appreciation for the heroes in our days. All in the same day, in the same place, at the same time.

So today, you can look over here – for I’m so glad you’re my friend. Full stop. No either/or. Have a good day, me

life lessons

Humble Lesson

mimijk

Hi my friend,

What’s happening in your world? Are you as amazed as I that an entire day can pass and when I do a mental inventory, I’ve got little to show for the spent hours and minutes? And yet, the days go by – a walk here, a load of laundry there…

…oh, and a little free-floating anxiety for good measure.

Have you heard the fantastic story of the gentleman in the U.K. who celebrated his 100th birthday by walking back and forth in his garden, hoping to get some support for the NHS? As a result he has inspired the public’s emotional and financial enthusiasm – he has become a joyous, endearing icon (he’s got the greatest smile) and over $100M in donations have been made in his name.

What a difference a day can make, huh?

The owner of the studio where I go to do my lame-but-earnest attempt at exercise (when not on lockdown), travels from pillar to post, offering socially distant cardio and dance classes – one of which occurs on my driveway Thursday mornings. Four women, one incredible instructor and some good music. What she provides to those who can’t come to her these days is immeasurable. We laugh, we talk, we breathe, we dance. We are the better for her.

And she does this everyday.

So this is what I was thinking about while I was standing in line at the supermarket (mask, check; acceptable distancing, check). What the hell have I done that even comes close to paying a bit of rent for the gift of being here? I was at my self-flagellating best – I need to do more, be better, think more creatively, come on Mim, if not now…

I check FB, and see a note from a woman who was one of my campers (back in the day, obviously). I made a difference to her. Whatever I did, and Lord knows I can’t remember what – it mattered to her. Fret not, this isn’t a pity post – really. I’m a decent mom, an even better Gigi; I’ve accomplished a lot; impacted some, enraged others, and occasionally even lit a spark. I think I finally figured out this whole marriage thing, after a couple of false starts. I try. All in all, I’m ok. That said, nothing really measures up to the contributions of many – let alone the contributions of doctors, nurses, first responders, etc. On balance, is it enough to be nice…can I really be satisfied with the logic of the butterfly effect? I’m not sure – my hands are empty, no matter how full my heart may be.

This is at worst a lesson in humility – there are people doing extraordinary things to remind us of our better selves. There are people who challenge us to try a bit harder to step outside of our own story. And if that’s the worst, that ain’t bad. At best, this is a love note to Jayne Ritter, who gave me far more this morning, than I might have offered all those years ago.

life lessons

Muscle Memory

mimijk

Hi my friend,

How are you?  How are your spirits?  Do you feel it as bizarre as  I do to find my days devoid of certain hallmarks that chronicle the passage of time?  I thought today was Thursday, and arguably no 24 hour period is far different from another right now – morning walk, evening walk, FaceTime with my kids and kidlets, reading, cooking, knitting and trying to teach myself how to needle felt (and failing miserably).  As I write, it sounds like I’m doing this sheltering in place pretty damn well – and I am, but for the spectre of my devoted doctor reminding me on a videocall about my high risk status – blah, blah, blah…I hear it, I can’t fully absorb it or I wouldn’t be able to move.

Which brings me to why I’m writing.  When we speak of muscle memory, we typically think of our bodies – using our muscles with regularity so that they know what to do and become better with use.  Good thing too.  Get out there people, if you can – the birds are desperate to be heard.

What about the muscle memory of connection?  We learn how to interact with each other, we develop our communication skills with practice (admittedly some more than others),  we learn to listen and respond (again, some more than others).  When I was in grad school, active listening was a year long course – and frankly, it was exhausting.  That said, it’s a muscle I use and use and use.  And when there’s no one around, I listen to the subtlety of sounds I typically pay no attention to.

How are you doing with the muscle memory of your heart?  Of the thoughts you are giving free rein in your gorgeous head?  Are you exercising your power to choose?  And can you choose hope in the face of so much fear and sorrow?  Can you choose to see some beauty despite this frightening reality that unfolds with increasing despair each hour?  I cop to being a Pollyana, though even I struggle at the moment.  So, I return to muscle memory.   I am pretty limber with hope, I am incredibly flexible when it comes to love – in fact, I wish my physical muscle memory was as toned.

Krista Tippett wrote – “Hope, like every virtue, is a choice that becomes a habit that becomes spiritual muscle memory.  It’s a renewable resource for moving through life as it is, not as we wish it to be.”  I hope you are well,  I hope you are exercising your mind and your body.  I hope.