Category: life lessons

friendship, life lessons, mindfulness

When The Heart Hurts

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“There comes a time when the world goes quiet and the only thing left is your own heart.  So you better learn the sound of it,  Otherwise you’ll never understand what it’s saying.” — Sarah Dessen

Perhaps it’s just the uncertainty of the sky this morning.  Long drives over the weekend punctuated by emotional family moments that are both joyful and sad.  Certainly too full to be explained without further reflection.  Maybe it’s just a day when the heart has to ache.  The uncomfortable nexus where what we feel meets what we give and/or receive.  Feeling the summer’s departure and perhaps not being ready to say farewell.

There’s a chill in my body that seems centered in my chest that radiates into my arms.  As if they need to stay close to my body and not approach the day outstretched with anticipation.  Sometimes you need to just hold yourself.  Wrapping yourself up in whatever warmth you extend out; trying to retain that heat.  And if one were to ask what’s wrong, the best one can do is shrug, perhaps whisper “I don’t know”.  I’m just aching for what I miss.  And I’m furious that given all that I have, I should even think of feeling anything but grateful.  And yet…sometimes, even Pollyanna sounds insufferable to herself.  Let it be.  Tomorrow I may fly again.  Tomorrow I will marvel.  For today though, I am chilled.  And I will listen to my heart, not diminish its longing or sorrow or misgivings – for days like this shouldn’t be denied, or they will last far longer if ignored.   Time to grab a sweatshirt, accessorize appropriately and just accept the day for what it is.

courtesy of The Story People
courtesy of The Story People
humor, life lessons, motivation

Practically Perfect

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“They say that nobody is perfect.  Then they tell you practice makes perfect.  I wish they’d make up their minds” — Winston Churchill

Oh Winnie (we’re on informal terms), I am with you pal.  Accepting that we are all so imperfect (even you Win – you had a weirdly shaped head and drank more than your fair share of alcohol – I’m just sayin’…and what about that temper, hmm?),  able to choose the road less traveled with the right intention and the wrong shoes, discovering once lost that we’ve reached a dead-end (while walking without a compass – I still don’t know how to use one, but some people find them handy).  Striving, reaching, folding inward…reflecting upon the answers to questions with a million possible choices.  Perhaps we are lucky enough to find a perfect moment in between all the others, and arguably that’s pretty damn good.  We all know that nothing holds up under intense scrutiny – a perfect rose, an exquisite smile – if gazed upon for too long morphs into something that is slightly wanting (and occasionally a little weird-looking).

I accepted this reality a long time ago – and yet, I’m still searching.  And I’m an idiot.  I have been on a quest for the perfect pair of jeans, the perfect cosmetic blush, the perfect pen for decades (decades,  I tell you).  Straight jeans, boyfriend jeans, jeans with spandex so I can look thin and not breathe, dark jeans, bleached jeans, expensively ripped jeans, bootcut jeans.  I have a long torso and short legs (imagine trying to dress a fireplug), and still wonder if all jeans require that there be a gap at the waist that permits you to catch a lovely breeze while you’re walking.  A pair of jeans that are well-worn and soft, comfortable to a fault that don’t provide the opportunity for me to end up with a self-inflicted and seriously painful wedgie.  Jeans that will close without holding my breath and a zipper that moves easily without the need to lie down on the bed to ease its movement.

I’ve  just about given up on this one – I buy ’em bigger these days, because I just can’t abide by things that hug me so tightly I begin to feel light-headed.  How do I look?  Probably like a representative from Munchkinland who didn’t make it into costume in time.  I am completely aware that Vogue isn’t calling anytime soon.

Make-up is just one big come-on and I fall every time.  Each color is “wonderful for any skin tone”, “gives you that natural flush”, “just apply on the apples of your cheeks and you will look instantly refreshed”.  No I won’t.  I look like a frightening marionette or my application is so light that people ask after my health.  “Coral” looks  like I’ve got navel oranges affixed to my cheeks; pink as if I’ve strategically stuck on cotton candy so I can grab a taste throughout the day.  Brown?  Don’t ask.  If I pinch my cheeks (as some fashion editors recommend) I hurt myself and am left with two welts.  So why am I still bothering?  Hope my friend, hope.  It’s stronger than reality.

Which brings us to my obsession with pens.  Those who remember me from my work days know that my preference was always to use a fountain pen.  Italic nib, so I could write pseudo-calligraphy and remain questionably legible.  I wanted a pen that would float along the page, no sound of scratching, ink flowing evenly and with the sort of fluidity that the end result would almost have to be equally flowing and beautiful.  I also thought it would improve my illegibility, transforming it into magnificent penmanship.  Cheap pens, expensive pens, I have committed to so many, only to discover that I am fickle and that my expectation keeps changing.  I really understand that there may not be a connection between the loveliness of a pen and the words that I write (a bitter, bitter pill to swallow – “I coulda been a contender”).  But I believe there is some writing instrument out there that is going to be close to transformative.  David (davidkanigan.com) wrote of the “Perfect Pen” yesterday and I felt my heart begin to race.  Could it really be?  And it’s available at Office Depot?  No specialty store?  No secret password to gain egress to some high-end pen shop?  You know where I’m heading today.

And yet I know that I will like the pen.  I will not love it, for it is not a fountain pen – but perhaps it will inspire sentences that leave you breathless, wondering with awe how I could even conjure such flights of fancy and delight.  I think I’ll wear my two-sizes-too-big-jeans over there and just keep hitching them up (true I probably walk like a short Walter Brennan but people give me a wide berth) and mix the corals, pinks and browns together before lightly dusting them on my cheeks.  It may seem that my face needs a good washing after that, but what the hell.  Totally unkempt woman walking into Office Depot in search of perfection.  No one will believe it.

friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

The Days Of Awe

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For those who observe Rosh Hashanah – the beginning of the New Year – L’Shana Tova.  My wish for my family and friends is for a year of joy and good health, laughter and abundant love, peace in spirit and in the world (I realize that’s probably a stretch but it doesn’t hurt to hope).  The days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are known as ‘the days of awe‘.  As God opens the book of life, as we ask to be sealed into its pages for another year our thoughts turn in.  Have our actions and our hearts been in sync with an intent that is bigger than our own hubris?  Have we been kind?  Have we been fair?  Generous in both deed and thought?  Please understand, this is my interpretation of these mystical, spiritual days – I am neither rabbi nor maven on Judaism.  I’m just a woman who responds to the need to consider my actions, apologize for any hurts that I may have caused either with intention or with thoughtlessness and to commit to trying to do better.

I remember my parents during this time of year – from the tender moments of sneaking in to sit with my parents during the adults’ service (which as I recall lasted f-o-r-e-v-e-r), leaning against my father and playing with the tassels on his prayer shawl.  Challah and honey.  A prayer for a sweet year.  Kisses on both cheeks.  Makes my body ache with an undefinable pain that starts in my heart and courses its way through my body.  It’s a visceral thing, this missing them.  

I have no wisdom to offer here – certainly nothing that we all don’t already know.  We are imperfect, we are wondrous; we are foolish, we are wise; we are giving, we are self-absorbed;  we are perfectly imperfect.  So I may not get every nuance of these splendid and awe-filled days, but I get enough to know that wishing you a sweet and loving year is not exclusive to any one religion.  I get enough to know that I deeply hurt  when I think of the times I have shown people the worst of myself instead of my best (or at least my average self).   And I certainly get that considering the synchronicity between my heart and my actions is more than just an annual effort.  This year may I do a better job of being a better person.  May I walk on this earth with a lighter more loving step and let my priorities reflect an understanding that all of this passes too quickly to be dismissive.  A year of light and love and the gift of tomorrow.  Amen.

discretion, friendship, inspiration, leadership, life lessons, management, mindfulness, motivation, training, work life

Sometimes I Get The Message

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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).

www.ted.com/talks/drew_dudley_everyday_leadership.html

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.

humor, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

Welcome Sir Bogart

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Well, we had a very calm ride home and so far, so good…The Sirs are a bit ambivalent – and Archie did try to share Bogey’s lunch…It’s been a challenge to get him out of Andy’s lap as you can see…

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And now it’s nap time, and the newest Sir is making it very clear that he values his privacy.

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Something tells me these next couple of weeks are going to make blogging a challenge – time snatched between trips to go potty.  But he is awfully cute..

anxiety, discretion, humor, inspiration, life lessons, mindfulness, motivation

You’d Think I’d Know By Now

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I recently received a comment about one of my posts, which I have let drive me crazy.  The person (whose blog I read regularly and enjoy – particularly for the  fabulous photography) wrote candidly that he didn’t read my posts frequently because he found them “too sweet”.  Now before you say anything – this isn’t a referendum on whether he’s right.  He’s right – I’m not the type to disabuse anyone of their feelings and after obsessing about this for days now, I see his point.

I assure you I’m not all that sweet.  Well, I’m sweet, but I have as many snarky moments as the next person.  And I can be sarcastic.  And if you’re a friend or relative of mine, I can be an absolute lioness – with both chuffing and growling sounds perfected.  You get my drift, though believe me I could go on and tell you all the reasons why I can compete with the best provocateurs, devil’s advocates and cynics.  Just ask Andy.  But I digress (again).

What gets me is how much I let this thought consume me.   I have held onto this like Archie covets a new bone.  The circuitous breeze in my head blows relentlessly and none too gently.  “Have I become saccharine?”  “What do I want this blog to reflect?”  “Is it honest” “Am I still thinking like Pollyanna?” (answer to this question is  – yes).  “Do I have anything new to say or have I become Mimi One-Note?”  “How much do I want to put out there”  Of course, the answers change direction depending on the time of day, the state of my hair, and whether I have eaten recently.  As of this writing, I’ve decided that I’ve got to let it go.  Must be time for lunch.

I began this blog with a thousand different ideas about what I wanted it to be like and then zeroed in on a year’s worth of entries that I could print out and give to my sons – a somewhat morbid, but well-intended gesture for them.  I’m now well into my second year and I can’t see giving them a flippin’ tome, so what am I doing now?  Honestly, I have no idea.  Given that I’m a big believer that certain answers come with time, I’m giving it time and just moving forward.  What I do know is that I’m as transparent as I feel I can be.

On Monday we were out to dinner with friends of ours who have had a really challenging year.   Her son was diagnosed with a serious illness, she was just laid off for the second time in less than a year.  The company he works for is on the brink of going under.  And yet, there we sat genuinely aware that we were all beyond lucky.  First and foremost, her son is much, much better – and that offers a perspective like nothing else.  We live in far better circumstances than most people in the world.  We laugh – a lot.  We know love.  We’re more aware that the concept of happiness is not something that is a given, rather more like snatches of sunlight between the cracks in a day.  The key is in noticing those spaces.  I’m trying to look for them, choosing to find them.  I don’t want to miss my chances, for the weather changes with little warning.

Lately, I’ve been acutely aware of time speeding past.  When the hell did I become 59 when I still hold on to such immaturity?   I’m not ready to age-out of life just yet and would prefer to be in the game with some well-preserved naiveté and faith in a whole bunch of things that are bigger than me (note to David Kanigan – no height comments here, pal).  I’d rather be acknowledging the spaces in-between and delight when I find them.  Pollyanna?  You betcha – though I don’t do braids.

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

With Props To Ashton Kutcher

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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.

discretion, friendship, life lessons, love

For Andy

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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.

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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…

 

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

Holding August

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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).

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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.

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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.

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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

 

anxiety, discretion, humor, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Is It A Women’s Thing?

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We were gone for four days.  Four days, a mere three and a half hours away by car.  We try to do this every year – a long weekend with our kids, away from all the requirements of life as we define them when focused on our daily routines.  In the mountains, we are faced with intermittent connectivity, one tv (somewhat inaccessible) and nothing but the breeze and the vistas demanding our attention.

We played board games.

We talked with each other.

We napped (not together).

The guys golfed; my daughter-in-law and I read, spa’ed, and pondered nothing more serious than what to eat for lunch.

And I got the snippets that sustain memories and my heart…My son upstairs in the loft, while downstairs I could hear him sigh in his sleep.   He used to do that when he was a little boy.  Just a sigh out of the arms of Morpheus, tender and calm.  Listening to the melody of the kids caught up in unguarded laughter, oblivious to the delight it evoked in me.  Missing the one couple who didn’t make the trip this year.  Stepping out on the deck in the middle of the night and whispering thank you’s to the sky, so abundantly lit with stars that I was left breathless.   Another memory to include in the passage of time.

And then we got home.  And I become certifiable.

What is it?  Why do I feel completely obsessed with ensuring that the nest be properly feathered after such an abbreviated absence?  Get to the supermarket and refill the coffers (we were gone four days, there was only one woman here hangin’ with the Sirs – how much food was missing?  Not much), buy milk, extra coffee, juice, fruit…Laundry – after all, we must have sullied loads of clothes while spending a long weekend dressed in nothing but shorts and t-shirts.  Sheets?  Changed – though no one slept in our bed.  Quick trip to PetSmart for a treat for the Sirs who had to endure the indignity of being completely spoiled and coddled while we were gone.

One should never be her own therapist, for I am already scouring the DSM-V for my diagnosis.

discretion, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, music, parenting

Gone Fishing

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That’s not true – I don’t fish.  I like the visual though – sitting on a boat in still water, line dragging in, bobbin bobbing, silence interrupted only by an occasional gurgle caused by some minor disruption to the water.  The lapping of the water as one adjusts their seating.  I have no need to catch anything – it’s at that point that my revery turns a little discomfiting actually.

But we are heading to the mountains with the majority of our children for a long weekend.  You may remember that this is an annual treat for us all – a chance to play board games, nap, golf, spa, read and catch up with each other.  Oh, and the occasional winery thrown in for good measure.

I apologize for flying below the radar this last week, only to re-surface to write you that I’m heading out of Dodge for a little while.  We’ll leave last week in the past and when I return next week I will be back to my sort of prodigious self (well hardly prodigious when compared to so many of you, but it’s a relative thing, yes?)

I’ll be checking in while we’re gone – and maybe even squeeze out a paean to the mountains majesty and the overwhelming delight in all being in the same place for a little while.  But I leave you now with one of my favorite songs from the wayback machine…Chris Rea – enjoy and I’ll ‘see you soon’…

anxiety, friendship, humor, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Oyez! Oyez!

mimijk

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…

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