Thank you all for giving me such a warm welcome – you are all way nicer than my brothers (well, they’re nice some of the time, but they seem a little moody to me)!!! Anyway, I’ve been here four full days now and I have learned an awful lot about life in the kingdom.
I know where my food is
I’ve been accident-free for two days – which seems to be a major cause of celebration for my mom, she keeps kissing me and telling me what a good boy I am every time I take care of business outside. It seems a little excessive, but I humor her.
My brother takes offense if I get too close to areas I find interesting to sniff…
But he will now allow me to hang with him if I respect his space and keep my nose to myself. The guy doesn’t know how to have any fun.
Size seems to matter – Sir Archie takes my toys, but if I try to take one of his – whoa…I am plotting my revenge.
Mom doesn’t like having her toes bitten – what’s up with that?
And the King thinks I’m perfect. In truth I think he’s got enormous potential and I’m sucking up to him for all it’s worth. I would say I’m making a ton of progress, wouldn’t you?
There was a comment waiting for me this morning that was posted on my “About Me” page. It was from a manager with whom I used to work at the firm. She moved on to greater professional opportunities years ago, and we keep in tacit touch on LinkedIn. And though I remember her in detail, from her reluctant smile, that once shared lit up her entire face to her ardent wish to ‘do the right thing’ for her department – I never really expected to receive such a gift.
“Mimi, I saw this recently and thought of you. So many times as a leader I reflect on your teachings and I am so very thankful to have them in my toolbox. Thanks for the Lollipop and for the ones I’ve received because of you.”
And she forwarded along this Ted video. And I cried (no surprise there).
And the bottom line to all of this? Be transparent, bring joy, offer people the best you have and if you can’t give them your best, certainly don’t bring them your worst. Sometimes the farther one travels up the professional food chain, the more likely it is to see people getting by with the most off-hand and dismissive of efforts – after all, there is so much one has to do (yes, this is sarcastic). I am humbled and honored that Vivia took the time to send me this. I am appreciative of the reminder that this is really what it’s all about – period. And my lollipop of choice? Tootsie pops, hands down.
Well the past thirty-six hours have been a bit tiring, but the Sirs are slowly beginning to accept the interloper who is desperately seeking membership. Personally I think he’s trying a little too hard, but I’m sure that his canine brothers would disagree. We are succeeding at the whole ‘going potty’ thing (with a couple of exceptions), the crate experience and following the King around like a dutiful royal subject. Our days look like this…
We play…
Everyone gets a little territorial – as in, ‘he will NOT share my seat that the table’
We get sleepy
We pass out
And so it goes…And as soon as this little guy gives me a few moments, I will write about something else entirely..
It’s kind of hard for me to give props to someone I don’t know much about nor have followed for his artistry or contributions to humanity. To me he’s a cute guy who is starring in “Jobs” – and that just opened here yesterday, so how familiar should I be? Oh yeah, he was married to Demi Moore – someone else I haven’t befriended (well, in fairness she hasn’t befriended me either, so…).
Anyway, this video is traveling the circuit that arguably could have been the Borscht Belt circuit before technology. Although he was reaching out to a screaming bunch of teenagers (and skip the first 1 min 44 seconds unless you like to listen to hysteria), the message is ageless. As we weave our own stories, jumping in and out of costume changes as we try on new iterations of ourselves…wondering how to make our next chapters meaningful while we re-define its definition…This is for us too. Happy Saturday all.
Although our anniversary isn’t until the 15th, we’re heading back to the mountains tomorrow to look at some real estate and see if there’s a weekend getaway home in our future. As you know, the connectivity up there isn’t perfect, so I’m posting this early.
We met because of children, had children of our own and have held onto our own immaturity for more than twenty years. Tess and Amanda – two of the most edible four-year olds in the universe became friends, their moms (our sisters) started talking about their siblings and a blind date (did I tell you I swore I would never go on a blind date, marry again, or risk more than required by serial monogamy?). We met at the harbor in Georgetown (I was waiting inside so I could see him before he could see me – moi? self protective?). I walked up to him and say “Hi, it’s me”. Andy insists he knew right away. I just knew he was very cute and interviewed me more thoroughly than any candidate I had ever spoken with in my HR career. Before we were done with drinks, he had gone through his checklist; I was just getting giddy. I was being interviewed! And I laughed – a lot. I still am.
Andy made plans – not just namby-pamby plans – concerts, trips to B&Bs, romantic restaurants. I was blown away. His generosity was unequivocal; he took notes the first time I was upset because he wanted to make sure he heard all I was saying. Honestly? That did it for me. No one had ever tried to listen that hard. Ironically, it’s not his strong point – but a lot is forgiven when you realize that this is the only person in the world who is going to make sense for you.
In twenty-one years you don’t have a tale that just offers giggles. We’ve had our share of challenges, distances and silences, days of doubt and frustration. Loss and anger, fear and uncertainty. My health issues have certainly thrown us for a loop on occasion. Me with my sneakers; Andy with his games. I read and escape in books; Andy plays pinball and darts. I was a parent driven by the word ‘yes’; Andy needed reasons to answer in the affirmative. I’m always early; he’s always late. We can make each other crazy and we will always have each other’s back. I have said before that he is the anchor to my kite – my tendency to fly away is far less precarious knowing that he is holding the string while he waits for me to come back to earth – so I will never get stuck somewhere from which I can’t return.
So after twenty-one years – which have flown in more ways than they have crept, I am beyond grateful and acutely aware of blessings, as corny as that may sound. I looked at him this morning and thought “my guy” – a thought I have had on more mornings than not. I’m still having a pajama party with my best friend – even if we are on different sleep schedules. We played impromptu charades in the driveway yesterday and ended up in hysterics. Whatever he maintains he knew when we first met, I was slower to embrace. But there is no doubt that we were brought together by familial love and have grown together with a bond that is cherished – both for its fragility and unbreakability. It’s a wonderful life, and a wonderful love. I love you Andy…
Many associate August with the fading days of summer, final trips to the beach, last gasp efforts to take it all in so that some of that warmth can stay in our bones as we turn towards the fall.
Not me. For me, it is a far more complicated month than that. I was born in August, I got married in August and my dad passed away in August (these three moments in time did not happen in the same year if you were wondering).
When you’re a child, summer birthdays are like always drawing the short straw. Your school friends are away, so there’s no big birthday party. I was always at camp, so I got to raise the flag, people sang to you at lunch and I was able to receive a call from my parents. The good news was that the call usually came during swimming, so I managed to avoid the changing room. But the whole allure of theme parties, giggles, gifts and giddiness are just not part of the summer birthday equation. Over time, it all evens out – and one comes to appreciate that the celebration is not in the number of people surrounding you in the moment, but the number of people surrounding you always. The reminder that to many you are special and loved, and to some you are just an afterthought. I don’t say that with ill will – it is what it is. I’m beyond rich in the love department – and I don’t need a day to remind me of that.
Andy and I got married in August. We get a little giddier this time of year – although it’s been more than twenty years since I broke out in hives under the chuppah and Andy and the rabbi walked me gently through my vows as my little one twisted his fingers in my dress asking for cake. There were toasts – my dad insisted on reading his despite his failing voice and already-compromised health. I don’t remember it all, but it began “Once upon a time there was a princess who met her prince..”. His voice was hard to hear – even with the microphone – but the magic was clear. The kids got their cake, my nieces jumped up and down with preschool exuberance, taking credit for this union (and were it not for their friendship their respective aunt and uncle would never have met). We began our life with the knowledge that we weren’t lucky – we were blessed. When we’re smart enough to remember this, we still are.
And then at month’s end, I continue to say kaddish for my dad. It is difficult to write about this without being maudlin, so I’ll aim for brevity. He loved me in a way that worked for me. I in turn drove him crazy. When he left, he took all my secrets – every single one. I censored little, though I’m sure he would have preferred if I had censored more; but I gave him all I had and I don’t think he ever doubted that. And I ache when I think of him, I miss him with a longing that I can’t define. Years ago I downloaded a voicemail he left me on my birthday – singing Happy Birthday and ending with “I love you sweetheart”. I have to turn that cassette into a cd, just to hear him one more time.
Time – August plays a game with my head when it comes to time. I move from moment to moment without volition, allowing events and memories to wash over me as water from a cascading stream. It has to flow in this way, and I have to follow its lead. It isn’t easy, I slip, lose my footing, but ultimately remain standing. Sometimes life compresses, other times it expands. August is.
“No matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away.” — Haruki Murakami
Let’s just say it’s been a week and leave it at that. No wait – let’s just say that it’s been a week and I’ve been hacked and my laptop, iPad and iPhone are engaging in acts of such exaggerated non-compliance that I am comparing them to any adolescent who takes pride in exhibiting high levels of snark.
I could go on – but honestly you get the point. And yes, I am sitting here in my family room engaging in a modified happy dance that it is Friday. And maybe all of this stuff will get fixed today (these are technical terms I know).
But I can’t leave the week this way. Sir Bogey has opened his eyes, showing us the bright little gleam that suggests brilliance and wit. If my understanding of royal baby development is correct, he actually may begin to scoot around with a skosh of intent in a few days. Happy Friday all…
Bill @ drbillwooten.com had posted a quote from Brene Brown that has stared at me for days now..
“Owning our story can be hard, but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky, but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy – the experiences that make us the most vulnerable…”
And, as is typical with the route of the karma truck, a confluence of moments stop me along the road and force me to pull over and take stock of my surroundings.
– Elizabeth asks me about the act of becoming the me I am today. Who was I before I left biglaw? How am I defining myself today? Oh Elizabeth – do you want the short answer or the long one? 😉
– An email from a friend with so much sadness, I thought the screen was streaked with her tears. A chapter closing with an ending she didn’t pen. Now a character in a story that she would have written much differently.
– Friday night with Andy, Jo and Ben seeing “Pippin” on Broadway. A long ago story with threads that carry through from the days when I made up songs to sing while my dad played the Prince to my sister’s balletic swan.
I don’t remember when I began singing, but it has been my protection, my home, my sanctuary, my arguably limited coping mechanism when humor fails me. Standing under Roosevelt Avenue letting one note escape from my lips as the subway rattled overhead. Missing the green light because I was focused on holding that note until the last car was on its way to the 82nd Street stop.
When I sang at ‘Catch A Rising Star‘ my sophomore year in college, I did it I think, more out of naiveté than anything else (well that, and an incredible crush on the guy who arranged it). Jo and Bruce were there. Had we not bumped into each other on the street earlier in the day, the moment would have passed. I sang “Magic To Do” – stepping up to the mike after a gorgeously built woman in a gold sequined bathing suit and heels almost as high as her hair, ponied her way through an off-key version of “V-a-c-a-t-i-o-n”. The audience loved her, for they thought she was a comedy act. To say I took the mike with tremendous hesitation and nausea is an understatement. But I saw Jo – and her delight. On the wings of her smile I let it go. And they asked me to do an encore (I did “Summertime”).
I got an email yesterday from her telling me that she heard me singing during the show on Friday…I thought I was being pretty quiet. But I had to sing – this was my coming of age story. Believing that I had to do great things and having no clue what that meant. I believed I was destined to do the extraordinary, and in my nineteen year old mind, extraordinary meant ‘big’, ‘notable’. And I’m sure sequins had to play a part.
My extraordinariness is hardly extraordinary, but I have come to understand that it is what it is. My sons are miracles – and though I take no credit for anything other than being their mom, I would submit that their arrival trumps any other accomplishment of the exceptional. They were my reason and my privet for so very long. And they moved forward into the world with the knowledge that they are more than capable of soaring.
I built a great career and felt needed by a lot of people – which was pretty heady and gratifying and I didn’t sacrifice more of my soul than I could handle in the process. And when it required more compromising than I could abide, more injury to my body and soul than either could handle, I left. And where I’m heading…well, later to the supermarket.
What I am though is here. I am in this moment for those who need me to be. I am here to remind my heartbroken buddy that we shatter and somehow mend again. I am here for the moments when one doesn’t know if another day is really going to change a damn thing, and suggesting that if it doesn’t, a series of days may. I am here with a cup of hope. And if you sit close enough to me, probably a song.
“The universe is not short on wake-up calls. We’re just quick to hit the snooze button.” – Brene Brown
There are some days when I think I have done absolutely nothing of value and can’t understand how the hours got away from me. At that point my self-talk is particularly harsh – ‘Idiot, you wasted a day’, ‘is this how you define living?’, ‘you have no excuse for such inertia’, ‘what are you waiting for?’ (I did censor these thoughts – I usually throw around a few expletives in my head too).
And even though I self-flagellate with impressive vigor, it’s beginning to dawn on me that I’m missing the point. I’m not snoozing through life – I’m wide awake, acutely aware and learning how to be in this skin without apology. I believe that my senses are calibrated more sensitively than ever before. I can find a chirping wren in the top of a tree, discover the mystery in a song I’ve listened to a thousand times and never really heard. I am increasingly attracted to people who have a curiosity about anything other than their own navels. It dawned on me the other day that there are some people who think of me fondly and/or with friendship and have never asked me anything that would suggest they really had any interest in who I am. And that’s ok – as long as I’m asking myself the questions that matter, I don’t need to be queried. I like inquiring better.
I am aware that life delights in such elemental ways that I can’t wait to wake up in the morning. The rich silence in the pre-dawn hours punctuated by the occasional grumbling of a bullfrog, the decadent smell of fresh coffee and the morning air fresh from the nights’ rain. I’m awake. I’m getting the message – there is no dress rehearsal, so make sure you pick up your cues. Life isn’t waiting for you to begin, it just wants you to notice.
“In these bodies we live and in these bodies we will die
Where you invest your love, you invest your life” — Mumford & Sons
Such a simple concept, yes? Hard to argue, pointless to debate – and yet. There is no doubt that I have exhausted this body with thoughts and actions and feelings that had little to do with love. There are years when I succumbed to the pressure of living to work, displaying outrageous disconnection between value and true purpose. I don’t think I’m unique. I think we remember what is in front of us in the moment.
It’s been a challenge to get the karma truck in gear over these last few weeks, and I’m not sure why. Feeling that perhaps my thoughts are becoming trite and overdone like a delicate Jenga edifice of clichés. And this morning something clicked, the starter turned over. Back on the road.
I had a particularly challenging consulting project that is now over. The participants were awesome, the conversation engaging. The untenable weight was a result of the politics behind the engagement and I agitated beyond anything remotely sensible. The details don’t matter – the phenomenal emotional toll that was exacted each time I received vitriolic emails and disparaging comments from the company that had arranged this program – was far more than I should ever have permitted. The client was thrilled with me and I was happy with the terrific group with whom I spent many hours. And that’s where I should have been able to insert a full stop. It’s like trying to separate egg yolks and whites – it takes practice. I still conflate the relevant and irrelevant; arguably giving way too much attention to the latter.
With the luxury of time, I watch people around me as they approach the tender reality of savoring what really matters. There is the obvious – our families and friends, a firefly playing hide-and-seek before becoming invisible in the daylight, a newborn fawn nursing vigorously and then falling over his/her legs in an initial attempt at play. Finding the delight in every story told to me, by people I may never see again, and others who I will know forever. Holding on to curiosity and expanding the vista to include more and more and more. I’m not ready to narrow the perspective – this body has room to breathe and absorb and take in and wonder. This body has room to rest and rejoice, listen and learn, commit and walk away and commit again.
Such simple, unassailable truths – yet coming to this post, I was close to breathing into a paper bag. The anxiety of insecurity, the constant questioning of whether or not I’m getting this right. It’s done. It’s written, and I’m on the road again. With time however, to renew.
Waiting for the Karma Truck 