Category: love

inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

A Really Good Man

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“You don’t raise heroes, you raise sons.  And if you treat them like sons, they’ll turn out to be heroes, even if just in your eyes.” –  Walter Schirra Sr

 

See that gorgeous baby?  Today he turns thirty-one – at around 10:47AM.  As much as he will shake his head with disbelief and some embarrassment that I am writing about him today, he can be comforted with the knowledge that he remains anonymous to most who will read this.  Truth is, it’s his birthday to celebrate; it is mine to remember.

I’ve assumed many hats in my life, and played at many roles.  We all do this – it’s part of growing up.  The one hat that I always wanted to wear was that of  ‘mom’.  I couldn’t wait.  I would admonish my six-year-old peeps if they were rough on their stuffed animals (my theory being that all these toys came to life once we slept, and their retribution would be fierce).   I was a maternal kind of friend before I could spell ‘maternal’  – or even knew what it meant.  Whatever I became professionally was serendipitous; becoming a mom was my touchstone.  If I became nothing else, so be it.

Memory blurs years together which must be why they pass so quickly.  One moment a baby is born and from that point forward time accelerates, making it impossible to isolate and hold each moment.  I can still remember holding and bathing him, the smell of his neck…I thought his baby toes were replaced with ten little pearls.   He squinted like Mr. Magoo, the lights were too bright.  So I’d squint back at him and dim the glare.  When he was nine months old he spent an entire night pulling himself into a standing position and then plopping down on his butt.  The next morning, he held on to a chair as he rose and wobbled into the dining room.  I was on the phone with my mom while I watched in disbelief – he had only crawled for four days!  Where were these days going?

We developed our own language and as awful as it sounds, I reluctantly brought him for speech therapy.  I wanted him to be able to converse with everyone; I wanted him just to talk with me.  He had one of those baby laughs that bubble up from the belly and just erupt into the room.  His grandmother’s toes were a real hit, don’t ask me why.  I couldn’t get enough of this child – I still can’t.

He is of course now a man – a really, really good man.  I respect him tremendously, though I love him more than that.  I love his heart – he will dismiss this publicly and appreciate it privately.  His sense of the greater good, his relentless work ethic.  He’s loyal and highly principled.  I love how much he loves his wife, how close he and his brothers are.  He’s very handsome.   I appreciate that he asks for my opinion though I fully expect him to do what he thinks is best.  I understand that I had to let him go into his life, and he understands that in many ways it is impossibly hard to do.  I keep trying to get that balance right.  My sons have grown into heroes in my eyes – not because of me, but in spite of me.

There are days when I just want to stop time and make cookie pizza, hold one on my lap and the other under my arm and repeat the chorus from “Horton Hatches An Egg”.   I want to watch a high school baseball game and learn secrets that most moms don’t get to hear (I am very very aware that I wasn’t told all of the secrets by any stretch).  It’s okay to want all of this, but time has its foot on the pedal and is driving this train.  So I’ll savor today and celebrate his birthday,  from his first breath to the man he has become.  May each day bring him all that he wishes for and may he wish for all that he has.  I love him all there is – Happy Birthday..

discretion, friendship, humor, inspiration, love

Acceptance Speeches

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When I was a teenager, I fully expected to win a Grammy, Tony, Oscar and an Emmy at some point or another.  I used to practice my acceptance speeches in the shower (typically after singing for the shower tiles, who as I have mentioned in the past, were always so appreciative they would sweat with enthusiasm).  Certainly I would look fabulous (proof enough that this was fantasy) and make sure to gracefully acknowledge everyone who contributed to the moment.  And I’d be witty and brief (further proof that this was self-indulgent make-believe), ensuring that I wouldn’t get cut off by music or a commercial.

And though I still tune in when an award show airs, I now find them to be almost as good as an Ambien.  I fall asleep after the first “Thank you so much!  I can’t believe it!!”  I’m sure some speeches are sincere, others may be funny – most are simply disingenuous.  And most of the recipients can’t move their faces any longer,  which makes it difficult to determine whether or not they are feeling anything at all.

I on the other hand have the joy of accepting awards that are given with far more generosity and sincerity.  This virtual community supports its members with acknowledgements that come from a lovely, honest place and I get pretty ferklempt (look it up in a Yiddish dictionary – ‘very emotional’ is probably close) when I am graced with one and permitted to pay it forward.

Renee@positiveboomer.net was kind enough to nominate me for two awards earlier this week.  I am very appreciative and grateful and a little embarrassed.  The embarrassed part is just me – you can just ignore that – it doesn’t diminish my thank you.  Renee and I share a slower, longer learning curve than most of you when it comes to anything technical.  And we both love Twinkies.  I love the joy in her posts – from the simple advice to the thoughtful expositions, the title of her blog suits her perfectly.

I’ve never been part of a Sisterhood before – though I have been asked to join the Sisterhood at our temple.  I have a sister who just rocks my universe, but in a family of  two sisters, I don’t think we had the numbers to qualify.  And I have a sister-in-law who I love very much..hmm..Anyway, I am now part of a larger Sisterhood and that is very cool.  I do wish though that the name of  this award could be changed so that it included men – for some of my favorite bloggers are men.  “Personhood” doesn’t sound very inviting … Something to think on..

Anyway, I believe the following bloggers are definitely Sisterhood material..

Deanna@deanaohara.com – her blog is titled ‘Redemption’s Heart’…

Paula@paulaacton.wordpress.coom

Laurie@passionateperformance.com

Amber@wordsaresuperfluous.com

Joanna@momentumofjoy.com

Jill@universalmusings.com

Susan@susandanielseden.wordpress.com

Maureen@magnoliabeginnings.org

As for Inspirational?  I don’t see myself that way, and it is incredibly humbling to be so considered.  If something I write gives you a smile, or provokes a thought, a nod – I’m beyond happy.  To me the real inspiration is found in the friendships and conversations that seem to uniquely define the special group of people who I’ve met through this blog.  And I am to list seven…

David@davidkanigan.com – one of these days he is going to acknowledge an award from me.  Well, he may not, but he was the first person I started to follow when I began this little journey, so he’s just going to have to deal with it.

Rhoni@help-me-rhonda.com

Anake@anakegoodal.com

Cathy@largeself.com

Bill@drbillwooten.com

Bonnie@paperkeeper.wordpress.com

Elizabeth@almostspring.com

Simon@simonmarsh.com

Andrea@thehandwrittenlife.com

Please give yourself the treat of reading these wonderful blogs – and then you will know why I can’t seem to step away from my laptop.  I guess I went on longer than the two minutes accorded most acceptance speeches – thanks for not giving me the hook..

 

inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Navemar – Nevermore

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“…here is the deepest secret nobody  knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life, which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)”

—e.e. cummings – i carry your heart with me

My mom would have been eighty-five years old today.  Seven years of not calling her first thing in her morning to sing “Happy Birthday”, seven years without celebration, seven years since I chose a gift for her.  Seven years and I can still hear her voice.  No one calls me ‘schatzi’ anymore.

Make no mistake, mom was a complicated woman with more reasons than most for some of her challenging qualities.  She was beautiful for sure and  incredibly talented artistically, able to make a slab of marble breathe, mold clay that came to life in a kiln.  She sketched and painted and studied – movement and the human form, meadows caught in play with the wind.  And when she lost interest in the delight of pencil and sketch pad, something bigger than any result got lost.  She was a haunted soul.  Haunted by the impact of having life, when so many of her family were lost during the war.  Part of the ever-diminishing segment of the population who bore witness to the unimaginable horror of the Nazi occupation.  Plagued with trauma I can’t begin to imagine, nor really took the time to understand as completely as I should have.

My former brother-in-law wrote her obit for the New  York Times which made the brief tribute all the more personal.  Her parents took the family out of Austria shortly before the Anschluss, “..making their way first to Belgium and then through occupied France.  the family made its way to Portugal, where on August 6, 1941, they found passage among 765 other refugees on the Spanish freighter Navemar – one of the last voyages of escapees from Europe.  [Her] children and grandchildren bear in their hearts eternal, existential gratitude for her family’s valor and persistence…Our family is particularly gladdened that [she] lived long enough to know of the safe return..of her eldest grandson…from Iraq, where for the past year he has served in harm’s way the country that gave his grandmother safe haven.”

The stories of the Navemar’s voyage are beyond the pale.  A freighter that was never intended to hold more than 30 people.  The horror was unspeakable and a subject of articles written by those far more knowledgeable than me.  My mom was fourteen when she arrived at Ellis Island.

I don’t know about why one journey ends and another begins.  Maybe dad left to make sure that my son would come home.  Perhaps mom left once she knew he was here and that all her grandchildren were present and accounted for.  All I know is that some days are far harder than others, and I suppose they should be.  It is the movement of the human form – the bend in the head, the tear rolling to the chin, the beating of the heart that carries so, so much.

friendship, humor, love

National Dog Week

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I have spent quite a few minutes this morning apologizing to the Sirs for my oversight – as I write this, they are still looking at me with disdain.  I didn’t realize that this is National Dog Week.  Truth be told, I didn’t even know there was a week dedicated to the celebration of dogs (I’m whispering this, I really don’t want to be heard, ok?  It’ll just make the chill in the air even worse).  I could say that yesterday was Yom Kippur, and I was involved in more life-affirming activities, answering if you will to a ‘higher calling’.  The plumber was here Monday for the greater part of the day, Tuesday just got away from me…

I’m going to buy some Frosty Paws later today.

In the interim, for all the dogs who work like…well, dogs and read this blog on your way to or from the office – these are for you.  For all of us who are totally canine-crazy enjoy..

friendship, humor, life lessons, love

Monday Morning

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This morning, one of our local weather forecasters said, “Today will be remembered for being very bright..”.  I found this very insulting to the other days of the week.  Certainly yesterday was exceptionally bright too.  And for all I know Tuesday will be just as intelligent.  Clearly this woman has a glaring bias (pun intended), and it concerns me that Tuesday through Sunday will remain forever undervalued and seen as somewhat dim.

In the climate workplace, I would say that the other days of the week have a credible claim of discrimination.

Ironically, the news stations here have decided that doppler radar images and assorted predictive computer applications really don’t serve the public as well as .. a window.  So now the forecasters have an outdoor set with lots of cameras, and they give the weather report from there.  “Look at the sun rise”, “It’s a cool morning – have the kids where a jacket if they’re waiting for the school bus”…I think I would like a job where I can stand outside and speak the obvious and/or provide a seven-day outlook with confidence –  and be wrong half the time.  How comforting to be able to shrug one’s shoulders and blame an unforeseen dip in the jet stream for any errors and remain employed.  I could do this job well.

Yet as Mondays go, this one is pretty spectacular.  Certainly far too cool and clear to be inside, so the Sirs and I are bracing for a serious nature walk.  I’ll be breathing deep and feeling the sun tickle my skin; the Sirs will be marking every tree as we go, crisscrossing their leashes around my legs with thoughtless abandon, oblivious to the beauty around them and the precarious position in which I am being placed.  I have no worries though, for I have been assured, that today is very bright.  With that kind of wisdom around me, I feel pretty sure I won’t fall over my feet.

 

 

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

These Are The Days

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My cousin’s daughter got married last night.  Gorgeous bride, handsome groom – they could be on the cover of any bridal magazine.  They glowed, as only newlyweds can glow – reflecting so much light that your eyes are magnetically drawn to them, as one looks to the stars on the clearest of nights.

Our family has shrunk remarkably – my cousins and I now represent the elders of this tribe.  How strange, as we compared ages and reminisced about how large those nominal differences in our ages once seemed.  We don’t speak of our parents, for none of us have them any longer.  Family events used to be full of grown ups – there were so many of them, and eight of us.  We don’t say anything because each of us is so acutely aware of the absences.  The counterpoint of love and loss is too exquisite.

We are wearing our seniority with limited gravitas.  Dancing with typical disinhibition, not giving a moment’s thought to any propriety associated with our status.  I killed it (and myself) in five-inch heels, caring little about the consequences (sounds like me in college actually).  Let’s not talk about my crooked shape today.  It was worth it.  We longed for the opportunity to forget that there were no parents watching us from the perimeter, nudging each other and marveling at our energy and rhythm.  My dad wasn’t there when the music moved into Motown; I longed to see my mom’s ‘dancing face’ (lips pursed seductively, eyes harmless yet flirtatiously looking directly at her partner).   I wore her bracelet because I knew she would want to be there.  The days of going from one table to another knowing that because you were one of the kids, you were met with the kind of familial adoration which may have little heft, yet envelops completely.  My aunt’s laugh – which would begin a chain reaction with her brothers both hiccupping and crying with delight.  Who knows what our children see when they watch us.  Fortunately they dance along.

Perhaps the bittersweet taste is more acute this time of year.  Tomorrow is the beginning of Rosh Hashanah – the beginning of a new year and the ten ‘Days of Awe’.  ‘On Rosh Hashanah it is written on Yom Kippur it is sealed’ – the fate of another year decided by the sincerity of one’s heart, the commitment to a life led with the best of intentions, the depth of one’s atonement for causing another person pain or sorrow.  I am not religious – and yet I believe deeply.  I attend services on the High Holy Days – am I trying to hedge my bets?  I don’t know.  But I remember leaning against my father’s shoulder and playing with the fringe of his prayer shawl, doing my best to behave so I could sit with the grown-ups when the kids’ service was over.  To sit with my two grown-ups.

And now that is me.  And I ask myself  if my words and my actions have been kind enough,  my generosity sufficiently reflective of that which is in my heart, beseeching  that my family be graced with a sweet, healthy year.  I take my role seriously in this regard – I’m not fist pumping to Marvin Gaye, not trying to prove to my body that it’s still too young to be anything other than spontaneous and flexible.  I am praying for continued life and that’s a pretty adult activity.  The responsibility of the senior members of the tribe to effect with concentrated sincerity and seriousness.  And the wind seems to sigh, knowing that this is the truest dance of all – one that we all move to regardless of our sense of rhythm.  To my friends and family, whom I love more deeply than any ocean and with width and breadth that spans farther than the sky – I wish you a year of joy and health, abundant laughter and sweetness – and love..always, love.

friendship, humor, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, music

Finding Life

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Days

What are days for?

Days are where we live.

They come, they wake us

Time and time over.

They are to be happy in:

Where can we live but days?

Ah, solving that question

Brings the priest and the doctor

In their long coats

Running over the fields.

(By Philip Larkin)

I got a call from a recruiter this week – a C-level HR position in another global law firm.  We may speak tomorrow.  Whether or not we do is irrelevant.  What matters is why I even entertained the prospect at all.  And I realized it’s because I spent so long making a very comfortable living, I really didn’t know diddly about making my life (sorry for the cliché).  Thoughts about working represent the comfort zone and figuring how to find my best life is a far scarier proposition.  And I don’t do fear – I prefer to think of myself as naively intrepid.  And other than the first shock of the day when I see myself in the mirror, I try to avoid any other activities throughout the day which may inspire my flight or fight response.

And the bottom line is – running away from life by running to work isn’t an answer.  Too many people do it, and I used to gently suggest to them that their effectiveness was impacted when work became their refuge, instead of an end in and of itself.  Guilty as charged.

So what am I doing to inform this new narrative?

I started writing this blog with no idea as to its direction or purpose.  And though I’m still not sure of either, I am sure that it has brought me into the lives of some incredibly generous, talented, gorgeous people around the world.  I have found that there is so much that unites us, I’m continually amazed that there are so many divisions.  I delight in laughing out loud at phenomenal humor from people who are deft at taking themselves lightly, or shaking my head with wonder almost every morning at my pal David’s prolific (and occasionally neurotic) wisdom.  I wait for a word from Simon which always fills my heart, celebrate Rhonda’s life-out-loud voice and hold Lori’s words as close as one would a second skin.  Bonnie and I may live in different time zones but we’re on the same page (though hers is a younger, cooler page without question).  Maureen writes her messages with a gentle hand, and Christine and Tuck’s mama share the unbridled joys of parenting (with the occasional frustration thrown in to comfort those of us with wonderful, albeit imperfect progeny).  Some people grapple with physical challenges – some of which I personally share – and are not hesitating to dance through life.  Russ and Ivon and John and Shimon make me wish I was smarter.  Susan makes me pine to be able to write poetry – all my Dr. Seuss riffs notwithstanding. Keith inspires me to want to walk with a lighter footprint upon the earth.  I could go on and on and on and I mean no offense in omitting any names – I hope you know how incredible I think you are.  You are all a part of this life I’m building.

I’m in better shape than I’ve been in a while, and knock out 110 sit-ups at the gym (with a back support), do pull-ups, weight-lift and bike five miles in seventeen minutes.  May not sound like much to you, but I’m enjoying learning what my body can do.  I’ve taught myself how to knit (badly – but hey, I’m great at scarves), began teaching myself the piano and am reading as many books as I can that don’t have to do with leadership and management.  I stay in touch with those who fill my soul and have learned to let go of those who have no need of me and for whom I arguably have no need.  I still hate the phone.  I learned how to download videos from youtube.  I consult, though not as often as I might like (but then again, I am lousy at self-promotion and don’t imagine that changing).

I sing again – although when no one is home.

I’m still learning how to be the best mom to adults, how to be an in-law who’s never an out-law.  How to love so hard and not squeeze the life out of that love.  I’m learning how to sit outside and not feel that I have to get up and do something.   I dance like a madwoman in the kitchen – and I’m not  half bad.   I sat in Starbucks this morning and listened to an elderly woman talk at length about a friend in the hospital.  I have no idea what her name is, but we hugged each other good bye.  I’m learning how to breathe.  And as I write this, I realize that I am learning that this is how one goes about making a life.

And I feel pretty damned intrepid.

friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

When Ordinary Becomes Extraordinary

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Wednesdays are really unremarkable.  By definition they are just middling.  The middle of the week.  The day that carries the dubious distinction of being known as ‘hump day’, permanently stuck in the position of being neither here nor there – not being part of the beginning of the week or the end of the week.  Poor Wednesday – always in the middle of the hourglass.

Except when it is an extraordinary day.  Then Wednesday stands proudly on its own – capably bridging both sides of the week with chest extended, pride exploding from each of its hours.  What happened today?

Nothing really.  Nothing that I can articulate well, at least.  After the weekend storm, we’ve been gifted with a series of golden days.  Truly magnificently golden.  It almost hurts to stay inside.  The sky is bluer than blue, the air cool and clear…goosebumps in the pre-dawn hours and kisses on your skin in the afternoon.  The morning coffee smells better.  The quiet is more magical.  The Sirs can’t help but get their wiggles out because these are days meant for wiggling and giggling (ok, so maybe dogs don’t giggle in the way we do, but still..).  All one’s senses are commanded to be on high alert to absorb the sheer grace of these days.  Mercy – when the universe attempts to provide us with what we are craving – and succeeds on every level.

One remarkable (and completely tangential) note – Fellow blogger kizzylee.wordpress.com has published her first book of short stories.  Titled “Whisper, Whisper”, she writes of flights of fancy that make you shudder with the kind of fear that lives right below your sense of reality.  The irony of course is that there is nothing about her that would suggest that this would be her genre of choice.  An adoring mom of four fabulous children, running from pillar to post with perpetual good cheer and a smile that carries across the pond.  Perhaps a captivating tale with an ogre of sorts and a happy ending assured – I would have anticipated that.  The two sides of  kizzylee – both pretty remarkable.  How delighted I am for her – another reason to enjoy this day.  It’s news that affects me more than a new iPhone on the market – but hey, that’s just me.

And in the glow of this day, I smile more broadly at the joy around me and I say ‘thank you thank you thank you’.  My heart aches more acutely with the unfathomable tragic news from around the world, the vitriol that populates every channel on tv, every paper, even the language on Facebook as the elections approach in the States.  I hang my head and weep – this is not what these days are for, these should not be the takeaways when the stars wait expectantly each morning to see what choices we will make today and the sun insists on sending warmth onto our shoulders regardless of the impression we are making upon the earth (to say nothing of each other).

Today is extraordinary because in the absence of  in-your-face surprises, a butterfly hung out for a while on some mums and just let its wings spread and sighed.  I’m lucky.  We’re blessed.

 

 

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

How To Hold On And Still Let Go

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There’s a beautiful poem by Mary Oliver that I’d like to share with you – it’s title is “In Blackwater Woods”

Look, the trees

are turning

their own bodies

into pillars

 

of light,

are giving off the rich

fragrance of cinnamon

and fulfillment,

 

the long tapers

of cattails

are bursting and floating away over

the blue shoulders

 

of the ponds,

and every pond,

no matter what its

name is, is

 

nameless now.

Every year

everything

I have learned

 

in my lifetime

leads back to this: the fires

and the black river of loss

whose other side

 

is salvation

whose meaning

none of us will ever know.

To live in this world

 

You must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal,

to hold it

 

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it,

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go.

Fall is breathing its freshness into the air.  A time of transition – and I’ve never been good with transition.  Once I get to the other side of it, I’m fine – but the subtle and not-so-subtle angina of knowing things must change makes me jumpy.  And yet, fall is when kids go back to school, when the forgiving schedules of summer become more intractable, when we shift our sensibilities to what is yet to be.  I celebrate as my best childhood friend seeks to find her new rhythm now that her daughter has started a new career in a city far from home.  My friend D cries in her daughter’s room after she leaves for her freshman year of college (I totally get this – I slept in my son’s room for two weeks).   I sometimes still wonder where my place is in my own little family – as the boys have established their own married lives and I had to give them the room and space to go about their adult lives – and on a daily basis, their schedules and plans have nothing to do with me.

And all these children/adults are doing exactly what we have wished, dreamed and prayed for – they have become caring, responsible, decent people who are loving and loved.  People who are delighting in the lives they are making for themselves.  These are the times when I remember clearly the words of the rabbi at our wedding, reminding us that we are not lucky, we are blessed.  I think about that a lot.

I think about how I’ve yet to let go of my parents though they are no longer here.  In my heart, my friend Alex never hurt with such relentless despair that she would have to leave this life.  I hold on.

I hold on to being in my junior seniorhood and inwardly jump up and down when my trainer tells me that I can still rock ‘cute’.  Of course I’m paying him, I know that – but there are few adjectives for retired cheerleaders that aren’t totally nauseating (and I only did that for one semester in college).  I listen to a friend as she struggles through a huge life change and wrestles with the idea of letting go of that which is already gone.  And look forward to a wedding this coming weekend when two young people let go of their old lives to begin one together.

Perhaps the salvation is not in the letting go, perhaps it is in holding on loosely.  Not necessarily with the intent to try and reel the past back in, but to able to regard it as a touchstone from which to move forward.  To know that as life proceeds without our permission, that which we love with all our being still remain in some way ever-present.  Perhaps that is how we can move forward and embrace the transitions that leave us breathless.

 

friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Thoughts For A Friday Afternoon

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I found this quote so reassuring and comforting and hopeful – what better mindset to have as we head into the weekend?  To know in the stillness – between one action and the next, that you can pause and consider all the love that conspired to bring you to this moment.  Hokey?  Okay.  But tell me who ever is genuinely loved too much?  And who doesn’t need to be reminded that no matter how snarky the mood, difficult a day or challenging a moment in time may be – you are part of a greater, loving whole?

So, back to your regularly scheduled chaos –  but hopefully with a moment to smile.  Happy weekend all..

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

I Love Oreo Cookies

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Please note, I didn’t say I love Nabisco – I know nothing about the company, I concede that Oreo cookies are made of few natural ingredients and if consumed in massive quantities may erode one’s digestive track and certainly they can leave embarrassing clues on your teeth if you don’t wash them down with something.

I love Oreos because they don’t fall apart when you dunk them in milk.  Oreos are tough, even though the stuff in the middle always stays soft (but never so soft that it falls into your glass mid-dunk).   I carried two bags of Double Stuff Oreos in my suitcase when I flew to Riyadh, and not one broke  (another story for another day – it was for work, and yes, I looked more than a little ridiculous in an abaya which I kept tripping over because there was no opportunity to get a normally sized one adjusted for a short woman, and blond hair poking out of a hijab didn’t help me achieve anonymity).  That says less for my packing skills than it does for the cookies.  I’m tellin’ you – Oreos are the unsung heroes of Cookiedom.

And I stand (ok, sit) before you today – the metaphoric Oreo.  Yet somehow it doesn’t make me a hero among humankind, so please don’t view this as a flight of egoistic folly.

I’m a pretty tough cookie on the outside (get it? already the parallels begin to present themselves).  Retrospectively, it took a pretty tough exterior to pick up an almost two-year old and four-year old and leave a toxic situation and have no job, no support system in the area, and no idea what the tomorrows would hold.  What I had was an unbreakable belief that I was going to do right by my babies and figure the rest out later.  No heroics here, just survival.  And no perfect endings for there aren’t any – I made sure there was an account just to cover their therapy bills (I’m sorta kidding about this guys – there’s no account with some hidden cash in it).  And at night when they were asleep, I would sit in their room just to listen to them breathe, because it allowed me to be as vulnerable as they were.

There isn’t a lot of room for the creamy filling on-the-inside when you’re working in a mega-firm either.  There’s too much emphasis on the ‘mega’ and my office was the place where people came when they needed to emote, not for me to emote.  Compassionate?  You bet.  Concerned?  To a neurotic fault.  Invested?  To my toes.  But if there needed to be a hard-core, put-your-head-down-and-just-keep-going kinda gal – I was pretty damn good at that.  Fall apart?  Not in front of anyone – that wasn’t part of the equation.  Not because I am a woman, because law firms like the ‘play hurt persona’.  They like the exterior that won’t fall apart no matter the hours, disaffection or compromised values.

And there’s definitely a need to be Oreo-like if you don’t want people to see that you have a body that is constantly fighting with itself.  That’s just way too boring.

I will crack a joke (and they’re often quite good by the way), sound like Pollyanna, and never admit that I’ve lost the part of the sandwich that keeps the icing inside.  Yup. Love those Oreos..Someone recently wrote me and said “you know, this is a two-way deal – you can talk to me about what’s going on with you too”.  I love her dearly – and find the prospect of such disclosure so  hard.  I’m better in the other role, the ‘I want to see you happy role’.  And you know?  I’ve gotta get over this a bit – enough so that I develop enough affection for myself that I can be something other than perpetually ok.  And my hunch is you do too (admit it, you’re nodding aren’t you?)

For at the end of the day, I do break like everybody else.  I feel slights as much as the next person and though I rarely acknowledge it, can feel completely broken by another’s thoughtless action.  Perhaps it’s why I pursue kindness so passionately, maybe that’s why I rail against communication that can be obfuscated and misunderstood – because I don’t want there to be hurt – intentional or unintentional.  Petulant and childish – I know.  But maybe there is something to it.   I can be a tough cookie when it comes to dealing with the curve ball that can be thrown when one’s health is always compromised;  when a crisis arises, I want me there;  if someone needs another to have his/her back – turn around – I’m there.  I have to learn that sometimes it’s important to ask someone else to have mine.

So when all is said and done…and I occasionally look at the losses or the hurts, the foul plays and the cheap shots, the downs that have to accompany the many ups –  I realize that perhaps it’s time to develop an affection for another type of carb…I think at core, I am really…a Twinkie. And I think, I’m going to be ok with that, though I’ll probably have to go to the gym more often.