Category: friendship

discretion, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, motivation

When There’s Little To Be Sure Of

mimijk

Once again, timing proves to be everything.  Lately it seems like a lot of people have started following the karma truck.  I will confess I’m not convinced that all of these new passengers are real – something tells me the WordPress filters are going through some kind of crisis.  And yet, today I received the loveliest message from someone new, and it was clear that she was neither a salesperson, corporate entity or accidental tourist.  My delight in her arrival somehow tripped the ignition which lately has been reluctant to start.

In the ether, it is tough sometimes to separate fantasy from reality.  Are we, in real life, what we project in our posts?  I seem to follow those who I believe are as transparent as their defenses and sense of propriety permit.  I have become friends with some who I have yet to meet, and I have every confidence that should circumstance and fortune collide, I would find them to be even more than my thoughts could have imagined.

Like Lori.  We finally met this week.  I recognized her instantly and she was more beautiful than any picture suggested.  She has a giggle like a song, and a heart that beats with a rhythmic love that just draws the world to her.  To be in her orbit was both exhilarating and comforting – for I was with someone I have known forever though I can’t remember where or when.  I just know it to be so.

For twenty-four hours we talked, commiserated, wondered about people we have grown to care deeply for (despite not being able to identify them if we passed on the street – and you know who you are, which is a good thing), shared personal histories in more exquisite detail, cried a bit, laughed far more.  My words are not doing this visit justice, yet I’m certain you get the gist.

Last week Bill @ drbillwooten.com was generous enough to include me as part of his WordPress Family.  The coincidence of these two moments is not lost to me.  We who write and read each other’s posts, who comment and delight, commiserate and comfort, find ourselves in a family of sorts.  Perhaps it is not one that is standard issue, nor one that can be identified by pictures and get-togethers.  But nonetheless, to one degree or another it is defined by connection and dare I say it, levels of love.  There is no ambiguity despite the opaque wall of anonymity.  Within these posts lie the magic of people I have come to love in a way that I need not try to define.  I just have to acknowledge that it is there.  And I do – with arms wide open.

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discretion, friendship, humor, life lessons, mindfulness, motivation, Uncategorized, work life

How We Carry The Day

mimijk

Another early morning finds me sitting in the office atrium, catching up on the day’s rhythm, seeing if I can match the beat.  The energy is too slow, involving shuffling instead of stepping, a resignation in the bend of the head.  Clearly I am not going to be a helpful dance partner.  I need to carry the day differently…which propels me towards an entirely different train of thought.  How to carry the day.

Should it be carried gently as a sleeping baby in your arms, held with acute awareness of its inestimable preciousness?  Or with abandon?  Tossing the day up in the air with delight, watching it return to your hands gleefully anticipating the breathlessness of being thrown higher again and again.

Perhaps it should be carried over your shoulder, as one carries shirts fresh from the dry cleaner?  Protected in plastic that provides the security that they will make it home spotless and pressed (assuming you don’t fall into a puddle).

Do you hold the day like a briefcase – holding so tightly to the handle that your fingers ache, secure that no one will be able to take it from you?

Or

Like a well-worn handbag held casually and almost mindlessly – its weight comfortable in your hand, its contents familiar (save for the occasional forgotten lipstick and dollar bill at the very bottom of the bag).

How do you carry the day?

Held tightly against you like a cell phone to your ear, doing all you can to make sure that no one can hear what you are attending to?  Protectively guarding your privacy despite being in the middle of all this humanity??

Do you carry the day with confidence or trepidation?  Delight or dread?  Is it one more parcel to hold along with too many others to effectively juggle?  Do you push it away as a stroller or a shopping cart, keeping control of the direction by keeping a certain distance between you and it?  Is it pulled along like a rolling suitcase, casually unaware of its contents (for after all it is always behind you).

Do you balance the day like an overly full cup of coffee that is thisclose to spilling over, taking mincing, tentative steps to avert sartorial disaster?

I suppose different days require different handling.  Today my  arms are at my sides, keeping questionable rhythm with my feet.  Today perhaps the day itself will carry me.

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discretion, friendship, humor, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Observations From Starbucks – A Wednesday Olio

mimijk

Sometimes you just need a venti, skim cappuccino.  Sit down, listen to the music,  silently intercept the conversational volleys around you.  Look like you’re working on your laptop while inventing stories about the people waiting in line.  ‘Not very nice of you Mim’, you say?  No worries, I reprimand myself in between thoughts.  It’s how I roll.

Redesigned logo used from 2011-present.
Redesigned logo used from 2011-present. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

OMG – that’s Helen Mirren!!  What is she doing in my neighborhood Starbucks???  She is magnificent, what a cool gravitas surrounds her as she regards a message on her iPhone with bemusement.  I swear it’s her.  I applaud my fellow humankind as we sublimate our collective desire to swarm, leaving her to be among the people.  It is interesting to me though that no one else seems to be sneaking peeks.  Wait…is she chewing gum while drinking her latte?  With her mouth open?  Helen!  Oh no she isn’t.  Yup she is.  Sticking the end of a ballpoint pen in her ear and scratching.  Her pinky isn’t raised.  I can hear her snapping her gum.  I get it – this most definitely is not a Helen Mirren sighting.  Damn – I was so sure.

Young woman in line with her shoulders slumped, hair covering her face as if she would give anything to be invisible.  She’s lovely actually, and dressed in black on a gorgeous spring day does not serve as a cloak of invisibility.  The blue lipstick doesn’t either – it actually looks like she’s been caught inflagrante delicti with a Smurf.  It’s that same blue.  I have to get this visual out of my head as soon as possible – it’s both funny and mildly gross.  And if this involves two consenting adults and no one is getting hurt…

Interesting meeting going on at the only table that seats four.  Three guys, one girl – all dressed in the new sartorial category “business casual”.  The young men are in khakis, three variations of the color beige and button down shirts – two blue, one white.  The woman wears a scarf wrapped twice around her neck in the fashionable way that conceals any spots on the front of your shirt.  Blue skirt, blue tights, flats. I look at them not looking at each other and smile – they all look so young, so intense.  I have yet to see one of them look up from their respective laptops, and I wonder why I’m so sure they know each other other than their matching outfits.  One guy gets up to get a refill and says to someone at the table – “I just texted you”.  Really?  I am inclined to sit here until they leave just to see if they acknowledge each other in real time as they move towards the door.  I’m inclined, but my time here is limited.

If a woman is standing in line and the seam in the back of her very-very-very tight skirt has gone off-center, do you tell her?  She’s got too much going on with the whole look not to care.  I think she is dressing to impress and she certainly leaves an impression.  I can’t imagine that she just threw herself together this morning. Her hair is sprayed to natural perfection (yes, it’s an oxymoron – get it?), eyelashes curled and mascara-ed, blush applied and blended right at the ‘apples’ of her cheeks as fashion magazines suggest.  I should tell her…no I can’t.  As I sit here in my chic gym clothes, I look like a really credible source to comment on the seam placement of her skirt.  Nope – I’m letting it go.

I see an older couple who work out at the gym when I do – we say a quick ‘hi’ as I begin to head out.  I look up just in time to see him kissing the top of her head as she leans her body into his.  The best takeaway from Starbucks this morning – all other thoughts just fade away and I carry their love in one hand and my coffee in the other.  Happy Wednesday everyone.

th

anxiety, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, Uncategorized

How The Heart Heals

mimijk

“And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on” — George Gordon Byron

I struggle to describe this week.  All of the adjectives in my  mind seem to collide with one another in a frenetic game of bumper cars.  Contrasting realities – awful, horrific, mind-numbing, tragic, senseless, obscene, heartbreaking; life-affirming, connectedness, heroic, powerful, humbling, breathtaking, faithful.

Some people don’t do well with lots of stimuli – I’m one of them.  It’s why I hate the mall.  Too much going on that is competing for my attention and focus.  This week makes a trip to the mall look positively mundane.

I was in the city on 9/11;  in the Sears Tower (as it was called then – now the Willis Tower) two days later and flew to the Library Tower in LA thereafter.  My mom thought the firm was asking too much and was a wreck while I was gone.  I really think that had she known who to call, she would have dialed immediately and railed against anyone who had arrived at this decision.  Other than that, the trips were all about being there and not being rattled, reassuring those who needed it and confirming our collective strategy for responding to this serendipitous element of the new normal.

Of course, as this week shows there is no strategy for these traumatic reminders of the new normal.  The new normal wrenches us out of our skin, changes the rhythm of the day into a monotone dirge that quietly plays on an endless loop. Daily stressors are too much to bear, everything that is routine is somehow, not.  I found myself in tears for no reason (when of course there were all the reasons in the world), sitting with my body wrapped around itself, trying to contain this inexplicable sorrow, covering my mouth so the screams would remain silent while they vibrated through my body.  Did I even hear the birds engaged in their gossipy conversation over these past few days?  I don’t think so.

The collective release of tension in Boston last night infused my soul with light (and the hearts of many I am sure).  To see such joy and gratitude after these incomprehensibly tragic days returns my heart to baseline.  The treadmill begins to slow, the incline is less arduous.  The music changes – not necessarily exuberant, though hopeful.  And when I walked the Sirs this morning, I heard the birds engaged in a rockin’ game of Marco Polo.  And with a heart that is bruised, perhaps even broken, we return to our lives.

discretion, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

With Love

mimijk

I was particularly struck by a poem posted by ivonprefontaine.com (Teacher As Transformer) yesterday.  As with most things evocative, we considered Derek Walcott’s words differently – which is why I didn’t reblog his words.

Once again, I am motivated by friends, for whom this will resonate individually.  Yet I hope above all, among the takeaways is a feeling of the tremendous value you have, the wonder that you offer up everyday and the love you deserve – from yourself first and foremost.

The time will come

when, with elation,

you will greet yourself arriving

at your own door, in your mirror,

and each will smile at the other’s welcome

and say, sit here.  Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine.  Give bread.  Give back your heart

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored

for another, who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit.  Feast on your life.

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I’m really going to try to work on this…I need to.  You need to.  Let’s do it together, ok?  Happy Saturday all.

anxiety, discretion, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting, work life

The Relentless Drops Of Water

mimijk

 

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“Water is the softest thing, yet it can penetrate mountains and earth.  This shows clearly the principle of softness overcoming hardness” — Lao Tzu

I love this quote.  I love thinking that relentless softness can erode what appears intractable and immoveable.  The visual of solid ground acceding to the dampening of the earth, redefining its crags and layers of stubborn solidity by the insistence of water, becoming a rivulet and ultimately a stream.

And then there’s the old water torture visual (drops falling rhythmically and slowly on one’s forehead) which is far more reflective of my state of mind at the moment.  And may I say?  The drops aren’t particularly doing much except making me feel like I’m getting a dent in my head.

Over the past two years, I’ve been contacted by executive recruiters asking about my interest in C-level positions – law firms, professional service firms – and I’ve never considered pursuing the inquiries.  Last week I did, and yesterday I withdrew my candidacy.  It was the drops you see.  The persistent drops – “Do you have the chops to do this again?”   “You don’t have the chops to do this again”  “Do you want to do this again?”  “Wanting is irrelevant – what if they find me too old (that’s illegal and I’m way too immature, but…), too irreverent, too out there, not out there enough”  “But do you want to do this again”  “I want parts of it and I don’t want parts of it”  “That’s no answer, Mim”  “Can you repeat the question?”…and so on.

And so it went until I was desperately seeking a xanax or at least someone to turn off the faucet.  Oh, did I mention that I have a skosh of a problem calling a plumber when I really need one (figuratively speaking of course)?  “My family will think less of me for walking away”  “They will not, you doof”  “Yeah, they will”  This is ridiculous.  I am ridiculous.  Full stop.

I write Andy and the boys, send an email to two of my dearest friends.  Aaron writes back first – “You’ve earned the right to be whatever you want to be…therapist, elephant hygienist..” (I love that kid).  Paul chimes in next – “I think you should get re-accredited to be a therapist”..and paraphrasing here, ‘so happy you will pursue what you want’ (I love that kid too).  Andy, oh Andy – with his platitudes and deft application of the cliché, rejected both and just reminded me that who I am makes him proud enough.  ‘Do what you want, and if you don’t know what that is just yet, that’s ok too’ (I don’t feel that it is, but may I say that he’s a rock star).  And my friends..”I’m so happy you said no;  I didn’t want to have to share you with that many people” (she’d never have to).  “You made the right decision – besides, I think you should write a book!”  And here I sit, with a different type of water – the kind that traces down one’s cheeks, gracing each wrinkle, tickling my jaw as they meander down my neck.

How bewildering to be in my renaissance and discover that I am still arguing with these voices of doubt?  How breathtaking to realize that with a little effort, I can change a path that has been shaped by years and years of the drip, drip, drip, drip of my own design?  I am changing the flow, I am going to try to be more purposeful with this one life I have.  Remember my passion, follow my fascinations, remember that it was my sense of integrity and what I believe to be right that prompted my decision to turn around and re-route.

There’s a place for me – little, idiosyncratic, idealistic, sometimes-savvy me.  I’m not sure where just yet, and I have to be okay with that for now.  For with absolute certainty I can tell you, within me there’s a river.

th

anxiety, friendship, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

It’s Tradition

mimijk

“The family – that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape, nor, in our innermost hearts ever quite wish to.” — Dodie Smith

I love traditions that endure.  They may morph, become slightly diluted, be maintained while slightly deluded – it matters little.  Traditions add dimension to the family construct, providing the shading and nuance that help complete the picture.  It informs our history and clarifies elements of our future – what do I hope my children will choose to carry forward?  What elements of their history and our traditions will they value and hold?

As I watched my father-in-law preside over the Seder on Monday, I was struck by the simplicity and complexity of family traditions.  The delight in hearing the youngest children ask the four questions.  The enthusiastic negotiations that ensue once the Afikomen has been found.  My father-in-law beamed with pride, while still maintaining an air of amused gravitas.  Each child kissed and congratulated for their detective work.  Parents smiling so broadly – some relief undoubtedly mixed in with all that love.  The miracle of generations sharing the secret recipe for creating the perfect olio that makes each family unique, its traditions singularly their own.

And as my brother-in-law referenced those who were not in attendance – his daughter and her family in LA, his mom, my mind secretly wished that my parents were still here, that there were more traditions still to be had in their home.  And though this isn’t about them, I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that there were memories that shone in my mind’s eye with primary-color-like clarity.   I saw a picture my sister had posted with our family’s seder plate in the middle of her table, and my reaction was visceral.  Can a heart turn upside down and still beat?

As I looked around the table though, I was also struck by that which was not seen.  The dynamics that are tested, the hurt that only family members can inflict upon each other with or without intention.  The fibers that are being stretched too thin, the ones that are in the process of being rewoven with such care to ensure they are stronger and more pliable than ever before.  Each person’s story as it related to the others, replete with love, frustration, an intractable wish to be understood.  These are traditions too – and though arguably not those which we choose to carry forward, they move forward with us nonetheless.  Our conscious choice is what we do with them.  Family dynamics are rarely enviable – they’re too complex, too imperfect, too full.  At some point, we decide which elements are worthy of retention – the good and the not-so-great – the aspects that will comfort, delight and nurture us and those that may always move us to tears.  These I suppose are the traditions of the heart, the way we pass on the concept of family.  It is part of our legacy, so I would suggest that we choose well.  It becomes our imprimatur, our tacit approval for what will become critical elements of our family tradition.  May it always begin and end with love.

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friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, motivation

A Woman

mimijk

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“A woman should have…

enough money within her control to move out

and rent a place of her own even if she never wants

to or needs to…

A woman should have…

something perfect to wear if the employer or her date of her

dreams wants to see her in an hour…

A woman should have…

a youth she is content to leave behind…

A woman should have…

a past juicy enough that she’s looking forward to

retelling it in her old age…

A woman should have…

a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black

lace bra…

A woman should have…

one friend who makes her laugh and one who

lets her cry…

A woman should have…

a good piece of furniture not perviously owned by anyone

else in her family…

A woman should have…

eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a

recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honored…

A woman should have…

a feeling of control over her destiny

 

Every woman should know…

how to fall in love without losing herself…

Every woman should know…

how to quit a job,

break up with a lover,

and confront a friend without ruining the friendship…

Every woman should know…

when to try harder and when to walk away…

Every woman should know…

that she can’t change the length of her calves,

the width of her hips or the nature of her parents..

Every woman should know…

that her childhood may not have been perfect – but it’s over…

Every woman should know…

what she would and wouldn’t do for love or more…

Every woman should know…

how to live alone – even if she doesn’t like it…

Every woman should know…

whom she can trust,

whom she can’t,

and why she shouldn’t

take it personally…

Every woman should know…

where to go –

be it her best friend‘s kitchen table,

or a charming inn in the woods,

when her soul needs soothing…

Every woman should know..

what she can and can’t accomplish in a day,

a month, and a year.

–Pamela Redmond Satran

anxiety, friendship, life lessons, love, mindfulness, motivation

Mornings With Joanne

mimijk

The weather was accommodating while Joanne was here – it rained without interruption.  As a result, we spent Tuesday inside – no distractions (but for the Sirs, who are very capable of disrupting anything for attention), no interruptions.  Although Jo and I see each other once or twice a year, we began our conversation wherever we left it last.  Given that this thread was picked up after forty-plus years of silence, it’s nothing short of amazing.

I can spot her anywhere – it’s her smile or her eyes moving from one point to another scouring the area around her to ensure its familiarity.  Or perhaps it is the intimate awareness that comes from understanding another soul so well that it can call you silently.  Alan said she has a ‘beautiful spirit’, a description that she wears far better than her too-loose jeans.

This year has been a test for which no one really prepared.  Hurricane Sandy hit her neighborhood almost as hard as it hit her husband’s business.  The intricacies of bureaucracies responsible for remediation challenged nerves already too frayed.  Rebuilding is expensive, exacting payment from one’s wallet and one’s sense of well-being.  She and Ben are well on their way, though anxiety chooses to linger and makes sure that its presence is never forgotten.  Jo reminds me of a kite – always has.  She flies and dips with the rhythm of the wind, making glorious loops and circles, dipping down precipitously and grandly, only to catch a gust of air to lift her up with easy gracefulness.  There is something about the sun and the breeze and Jo in flight – it’s a visual that never fails to delight.

Yet life teaches you that sometimes you have to be grounded.  You have to move forward in the far less appealing, plebian way of placing one weighted shoe in front of the next.  There is the need to be present when present is the very last thing one wants to be.  The relentless reminder that we are needed on this walking path.  There is no flight, no game of tag with the wind.  It is perhaps harder for those who revel in the movement of the air, those who are defined by their limitless potential for love, ideology, hope and a dash of resistant innocence.  I can see the little girl within, arms folded defiantly, her chin raised and her bangs almost shaking with the affront of being grounded.  And because I love her, I want for her to always feel the indescribable freedom of dancing in the air.  And because I love her, I suggest that there is beauty to be found on the footpath.

And just as she alit on Monday, she was off again on Wednesday morning to warmer climes.  But as is Joanne’s way, she left the essence of that spirit here.  Sitting in the kitchen on this early Saturday morning, drinking some coffee and regaling me with her tales from the sky…

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friendship, inspiration, motivation

Saturday Smiles

mimijk

Remember that poem that began “Monday’s child is full of _____; Tuesday’s child is _____” ?  I forget which child is endowed with what characteristic.  I was a Saturday child, and regardless of what I am supposed to have, I do have smiles.  Earlier this week, Ray’s mom at justiceforraymond.wordpress.com accorded me the award for ‘Most Influential Blogger Of The Year’.  I appreciate her vote of confidence, especially given the substantive and important issues she raises on her blog.  By comparison, I am arguably the “Lightweight Blogger Of The Year” – seriously.  I don’t want to diminish my appreciation with self-deprecation, tempting though it is.  I do want to express my appreciation for her high praise.  And thank her doubly because the only requirements in accepting such an accolade is to share it with others.  Clearly this is an abbreviated list – and I tried to include a mix of old and new.  These are people who prompt me to think more, feel deeply and enhance my life.  Thank you again Ray’s mom – drumroll please (two fingers working in syncopation on a table works well too):

most-influential-blogs-of-2012 (1)

davidkanigan.com (Lead.Learn.Live)

abundelic.wordpress.com

misifusa.wordpress.com

letlifeinpractices.com

keiththegreen.wordpress.com (A Western Buddhist’s Travels)

sweetmotherlover.wordpress.com

positiveboomer.net

theothersideofugly.com

thepersecutionofmildreddunlap.wordpress.com

ivonprefontaine.com (Teacher As Transformer)

jmgoyder.com

angelinem.wordpress.com

almostspring.com

drbillwooten.com

anyshinything.com

Now – I’ve got more, but I realize that this list is getting quite attenuated.  To those I adore and didn’t mention this time around – trust me, the year is young.  To me, each person I follow is The Most Influential Blogger Of The Year.

friendship, humor, life lessons, love, mindfulness

For Alan

mimijk

Were we old friends?  In the very broadest sense of the word, I think.  We traveled in the same pack of prepubescent kids, falling over each other and ourselves like puppies, but far too gawky and awkward to ever be considered really cute.  In retrospect I see us all as adorable and goofy, hypersensitive and phenomenally clueless, not fully prepared to be accountable for our words or deeds, yet quick to pass notes and judgment on the unforgivable behavior of someone else.

So after forty-some-odd years, I drove into DC looking forward to seeing Alan and wondering if I’d recognize him in a crowded lobby.  We are friends on Facebook, so there are some elements of his life that I have seen.  His magnificent wife and daughters – pictures posted which require no artificial light for they seem to glow with the richness of love.  There is no contrivance or pretense; they look like people I would like to know and more importantly, like people who are genuinely enriched by each other.  He has built a successful greeting card company (greatarrow.com – their graphics are really lovely and unique) and is also an extraordinarily gifted photographer.  His photos capture the magnificent moodiness of the sky, the sun in fits of pique.  He has an impressive collection of Stetson hats and wears them well.  All of this is well and good – but how do you find someone in a hotel lobby?  I told him to look for a short, blond woman in her renaissance.

Fortunately, the lobby wasn’t crowded – but I would have known Alan regardless.  Something about his walk (though the Stetson helped).  Bobby used to walk a bit on his toes, Jo’s heels would scuff the cement, Bruce kind of pulled the sidewalk along with each step and Gary had a sort of walk/run.  Alan’s shoulders were a little rounded, his eyes looked directly ahead despite the suggestion of the angle of his head and his feet always seemed to touch the ground gently.  Our pack traveled in relative quiet – our shoes reinforced with layers of rubber. The cooler kids had metal taps on their shoes – stepping in a perpetual dance with sound and rhythm.  Perhaps our development was more muted.  It seemed loud to us, though I think for the most part it reflected sounds only we could hear.

Where do you pick up after lifetimes have passed?  You can’t really say nothing is new, for to the listener everything is new.  I didn’t know he thought I had a great voice, he didn’t know that I thought he had an artistic and thoughtful aspect I always liked.  He designed sets for theatrical productions; I performed in them.  He went to Stuyvesant (a high school for the seriously smart); I went to private school.  We all dispersed for college.  So it goes.

And yet after two and a half hours, we still had stories to tell.  More than the memories of who we once were, we shared an understanding of those invisible threads – the ones that constitute the preliminary stitches which outlined the design of who we became.  He became a warm, loving, devoted, creative man.  I chose a career that required decades of performance and appealing to wide audiences.

Alan will return to DC next year for another annual meeting.  I hope we meet again same time, next year.  Were we old friends?  We are older, and yes, I believe we are friends.  We share seminal moments in our respective histories, and the comfort to quote Samuel Taylor Coleridge, of “a sheltering tree”.

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