With Thanks to a Friend...

... for a trip down Memory Lane (more like Memory I-85) that made me smile and reminded me of a period of real growth in my own life. Reading her blog, I felt like a much better person than I really am most days. It's nice to have friends with good memories around at your better moments so they can remind you of them when you need it most. There are some things in my life that I'm not proud of, but on World AIDS Day I can tell you that our day with Cornelius is not one of them.

I don't remember how Cyn and I got the assignment from Mobile AIDS Support Services. In fact, reading her telling of that piece of our shared history brought back many details I had forgotten about that trip. But I will never forget how I felt walking into Cornelius's home that day, more nervous than I cared to admit. He was a African-American man in his 80's, suffering with AIDS and already blind. We were on spring break, volunteers, and had spent most of the week -- as she described -- elbow-deep in condoms and menial jobs. I never knew condoms could be boring until that trip!

Frankly, I think I was less nervous about AIDS then than I was about Cornelius's general living conditions -- he lived in poverty and illness, alone, and was not able to clean up after himself. Entering his home, I was struck by "an overwhelming sense of ickiness," as Alicia Silverstone said around that time. It's funny how all the logic and education in the world are nothing in the face of some of our most basic fears and aversions.

But we were there to help. We'd given up our spring breaks getting hammered on the beach with all the other college kids, we'd come all this way, we were talking the talk. Our pictures had been in the newspaper for Pete's sake, we'd better earn the attention. So we talked with Cornelius a bit and tried to give him some company and comfort. But mostly, we cleaned. We did week-old dirty dishes in a tiny kitchen infested with roaches. We wiped furniture and walls, and -- for my personal Everest -- I scrubbed the toilet.

Even now, with countless dirty diapers under my belt and experience cleaning up some pretty disgusting things over the course of my life [as a teenager I worked at McDonald's and cleaned things I don't even want to discuss], I still get squeamish cleaning toilets. Even my own. All you nurses and hospice workers out there, just go right ahead and laugh. I can take it.

So to be faced with cleaning up after this elderly man who had been so sick, it brought out my least rational reactions. Maybe I'm imagining backward, but I think I still remember the yellow light in the room, and the brown tile walls; a large crack in the porcelain tub. I wasn't sure I was up to the task. Once I had scolded myself for being a huge baby and got on with it, of course it took no time at all. When we were done I remember breathing deeply the fresh air from Cornelius's rickety front porch. I felt proud of myself for doing something challenging, and sad that I couldn't do more for him.

The rest of our crew gave me a "potty award" at the end of our trip because they knew how hard that had been for me personally - and I was actually really sad when that was stolen along with some other precious things in a fire safe box years later. I have 13 years of softball trophies in my Dad's attic that I could pretty much care less about. Funny what makes us proud, isn't it?

It wasn't until days later that it occurred to me to wonder how he felt, a proud man rendered helpless by this disease and listening as a couple of young white college kids from another state invaded his personal space. It wasn't just our HIV status that made us different; it was also economics, education, race, gender and age. He seemed grateful for the help; but I'm sure he also resented needing it, too. Looking back, I think I was lucky to have that opportunity to meet Cornelius, and to make -- even for a few hours -- a connection that would've been unlikely under most other circumstances.

And I'm grateful to Cindy -- an amazing person herself -- for reminding me of that connection today. AIDS is not about certain groups of people or a demographic profile. It is a human problem, and we all need to be part of the solution... even if it means stepping outside our comfort zones for a while.

Yesterday it was my birthday...

I hung one more year on the line
I should be depressed
My house is a mess
But I’m having a good time...

[With my deepest, most sincere apologies to Paul Simon.]


Just an update blog because I've been missing you guys... Thought I'd tell you why I love November.

Elections: I know it's dorky, but I love Election Day. Maybe because it's usually wedged between Halloween (the most fun holiday ever!) and my birthday, but all the hooplah around elections just gets me all excited -- in a civic duty sort of way. I like going inside a school or church I drive by all the time, meeting the volunteers -- who love Election Day as much as I do! -- and I even like standing in line with other voters. There's a special sort of simpatico among citizens out taking advantage of our democratic process to express our opinion about our governance rightfully and peacefully. Kinda cool.

Kinda cool. I love fall weather -- at least for the first few weeks. I think I've talked about this already, but to me the cool, crisp autumn days are just as full of promise as the first signs of green in the spring. Maybe it's the deeply programmed hopefulness of an over-achieving school nerd, but it's like I can smell the potential A's and A+'s waiting around the corner. Sure, I was more of an A-B student, but it's about potential, people.


Wish for Wendy. This amazing softball tournament put on every year by my friend Andy is helping fund research that will one day cure Cystic Fibrosis. MDH and I volunteer for it every year and it's always such a fun experience. You can stop by and see us at the scoreboard if you're up REEEAAALLY early on Saturday, or just make a donation online and sleep in.


Field day. My friends and I do a big family field day every year - it's a great way of getting all of us together outside with our kids before the gluttony of Thanksgiving for some high-quality, silly fun. The original idea was inspired by a Play Therapy class assignment I had a few years ago to get out and do something playful (Best assignment ever!); but my awesome friend Rob has been running it for three years now and taken it totally to the next level.  

Thanksgiving. I love Thanksgiving because it's all about gratitude. And eating. Two of my favorites, together. Oh, and family. So three of my favorites. I cook every-other year; and this is my year off, so it's even more relaxing! 

Planning for next year. That's right. Planning for next year. You'd never know I had this Type A streak, particularly given that I have about a 20% rate of success when it comes to carrying out plans, but I think it goes back to all the promise and excitement of fall I mentioned before. I love rounding into the holidays thinking of all the fun and excitement waiting in the last two months of the year and the fresh start in January. It's like the universe is saying 'Go ahead, spend some time with the family, be merry, enjoy the festivities; and then get your tush in gear next year.'

So traditions. And service/duty. Gratitude. Friends and family. Playing outside. And indulging my Type A side. What's not to love? Happy November!!

Love, Hate & Nachos; Thinking About Forever

What I Hated About Today:

• The dead rat in the crawlspace. Discovered with my nose. YUCK!
• Gratuitous landlord drama. (Seriously? It's been 9 days!)
• My fifth aborted attempt at a nap this week. 
• Having to miss out on (a) dinner and (b) time with a dear friend, because MLM was exhausted and overstimulated and needed a quiet night at home. Sometimes it's hard to make the right call as a parent...
• Huge knot on MLM's head after a toppling chair incident. 

What I Loved About Today:

• Walking to our new pizza place from our new house with my best friend and the kids.
• Checking out the very cool library on our way home.
• Finding out that our pest control company DOES operate on Saturdays (see first point above)
• Playing with my awesome new phone after a week sans cell. 
• A rare but welcome phone call from my brother.
• Georgia, 41; Tennessee 14. FINALLY!
• Having a husband who I love enough to miss terribly even after 36 hours.
• Today.
• Dinner: Nacho cheese in the jar, tortilla chips, and The Lost Boys on VH1. Somewhere there are college fraternities eating better than I am right now. Yummmm.....

*************************************************************

Most of our clothes are still in boxes, along with our nicer dishes and wine glasses, and lots of other stuff we don't use on a daily basis -- or at least can get by without. But last night I unpacked some of my most prized possessions: our books. I don't get to read these days as much or as often as I would like; or rather, I tend to fill my time with other things instead. But something about pulling those familiar bindings and arranging them on the shelves goes a long way toward making the new house feel like home.

Home. I'm starting to be able to wrap my brain around the idea... The unfamiliar feel of this old house is being replaced slowly but steadily by a sense of belonging. It might be a while longer before I think immediately of this place when I hear myself say, "Let's go home." There's still lots to explore and plenty of ways we are planning to make this place our own. Also, I don't yet know my way blindfolded around the Publix, which in my mind is a big piece of feeling at home somewhere.

Since we've bought the house I've had several people ask if this is our "forever house." At first I wasn't sure what they meant: one person explained to me that her Forever House would have a large pasture and room for horses; while another mentioned that they are looking for their "Raising Teenagers House" but not necessarily "Forever House." Hmm... I obviously haven't put enough thought into this.

So maybe a Forever House is a cross between somewhere you're planning to stay a while and a fantasy home? Is it where you imagine retiring? Hosting weekend visits from the grand-kids? Something you build? It may sound strange to say so, having just signed the next 30 years of our lives away, but I honestly haven't planned that far ahead. We love our house, and we definitely envisioned ourselves being here a long time when we made the move; but I guess I've always embraced the unpredictability of life so much that I've never spent much time planning decades down the road.

Could I see us living here in 30 years? Absolutely. Could I see us living in a two-bedroom walkup in Madrid or Western Ireland? Sure. Minneapolis? Uh... possibly, if there were a compelling reason to endure the cold. I've written before about the number of times I've moved and my love of travel... When I fantasize about the future, I think about my son being healthy and happy and loving his life (and maybe other kids if we are so destined); I look forward to growing old with my sweet hubby; I envision putting lots and lots of pushpins on our travel map and weighing ourselves down with an excessive quantity of family photos.

But I don't really envision this future in any particular place. Maybe because home has been sort of a transient concept for me for so long; or maybe because I'm naturally resistant to being tied down. Who knows? One thing I'm sure of is that as long as I have family and friends and love in my life, I don't need a Forever House to know that I will always have a home.

One Sorry Blog

Rosh Hashanah has passed, Yom Kippur is on its way... It's time for the Apology Blog. I just read my blog from two years ago, and I could almost cut and paste, because I'm having many of the same feelings today. And I noticed that many of the wrongs to which I referred are pretty similar today, too -- so I guess some areas of my behaviors still need improvement. ;)

Gossip is still one of my major weaknesses. I think I've made improvements since 2008, but it's still one of those wrong things to do that just feels.... so right. In part, I come about this trait honestly. To this day I remember my mother quoting someone (Dolly Parton?), saying, "If you don't have anything nice to say, come sit by me." But it's also just because gossip is so delicious. It has lots of what those in the psychology world call "secondary reinforcers," which are side benefits that make habits hard to break.

Not only does the gossiper get to air his or her hurt/angry feelings, but most of us know that putting other people down often makes us feel a little better about ourselves (even for just a fleeting moment). Sometimes that little ego boost can be downright irresistible. And since gossip takes a minimum of two participants, it can also be a longed-for connection with other people. Who among us has not bonded with one person at the expense of someone else? It's selfish and wrong, but let's face it, it can be appealing -- especially when we're looking for common ground with a fellow purveyor of gossip. I think this is why gossip is such an easy sin to commit, and maybe why the Yom Kippur liturgy mentions it at least four times. [Insert sheepish grin here].

So, I'm sorry if I've gossiped about you (whether you knew it or not), and I'm sorry if I've enticed you into gossiping yourself by being a partner in crime.

And I'm sorry for all the times I've been late to meetings with you this year. I'm sorry for forgetting something important to you, for neglecting our relationship, and overlooking something about which you needed to talk.

I'm sorry for the times when you were talking, and instead of really listening, I was thinking about my own problems or planning what I was going to say in response.

I'm sorry I knowingly let your phone call go to voicemail because I thought I was too busy to talk, or too tired, or just caught up in my own little world. And I'm sorry for the exponentially greater number of times I missed your call because I'd turned my phone off and forgot to turn it back on or left it in another room, outside in the car, or under a pile of dirty laundry.

To the crazy lady who chewed me out at Costco a few weeks ago: I truthfully didn't intend to steal your parking place, but you're right -- I wasn't being polite and (when in doubt) I should have let you have the space. I could've apologized afterward, but your anger embarrassed me and I became defensive instead. I'm sorry.

To everyone I have hurt, intentionally or otherwise, and to everyone I have disappointed in so many ways this year, please know that my behaviors have not always been in line with my true feelings and accept my heartfelt apologies. I've said this before, but I mean it again, and I'm officially inviting anyone to whom I owe an apology or corrected behavior -- please let me know and let's talk about it.

This year, I also want to make amends to myself. To me: I'm sorry that I haven't let your dreams come to the forefront often enough. I'm sorry that I have let my worries about perfection and the expectations of others guide my actions rather than honoring you. Too often, I've given time to mindless TV, low-priority tasks and unimportant time-fillers. I've allowed my confidence to falter and measured myself against others, rather than nourishing my own dreams and giving them the time and energy they deserve. I owe you (me) more than that, and I'm sorry. I will try to make amends this year, by reminding myself more frequently and holding myself more accountable to... well, me.

I'm sure there are many more apologies to be made, to myself and to everyone else. But there's only so much one blog and one woman can do. And apologies are also about forgiveness -- forgiving those who have wronged me and forgiving myself for things I'm working on and things that are still outside my awareness. My flaws and limitations are all part of what makes me beautifully broken, a work in progress... human.

The Breast Blog of the Year - Part One

Boobies. Ta-tas. The Girls. Cleveland. The Good China....

Our affectionate nicknames for them are endless and often hilarious. And our breasts serve many purposes in our lives: from that awkward moment when they signal the onset of puberty and we try on our first training bra, to trying desperately to direct the attention of men in our lives up to our eyes (ahem), to breastfeeding and nurturing our children, and finally to that stage of life where our constant companions are less like perky balloons and more like fried eggs hanging on nails. It seems that no other part of our anatomy is such an obvious barometer for where we are in life, and to some extent, how we perceive ourselves and even our sexual identity.

There's probably an entire essay that could be written (maybe even a book) about breasts, social norms, and the psychosocial development of women. You'll be relieved to hear that I am not planning to write said essay. Or, at least -- this isn't it.

But I have noticed in recent years that breasts serve another purpose for modern women -- they are a rallying point around which we have organized ourselves for battle: for the fight against breast cancer. As a caveat, let me say that I'm aware both that (a) men also get breast cancer (though in far, far smaller numbers); and (b) that many more women actually die of lung cancer than breast cancer -- making it just as worthy of our collective attention.

That said, it's amazing what the fight against breast cancer has done for our community and our collective awareness of women's health issues. You can't swing a cat in October without hitting a store display of pink items designed specially to raise money and awareness [we'll talk later about why you're swinging a cat in a store]. Sometimes just the commercials of women running, walking and bonding in search of a cure leave me teary-eyed.

It has also brought men and women together in a way that I find really touching: seeing professional athletes in every major sport wearing pink in honor of the women in their lives, for example, is a gesture I find amazing and beautiful even outside of the good it does for the cause of breast cancer awareness.

The breast cancer bit matters, too, of course. I think pretty much everyone knows someone who has been impacted by this scary and (too often) deadly disease. For me personally, I've lost two wonderful former colleagues to breast cancer in the past two years -- one of whom died very suddenly just last week. I've also had friends who lost mothers and sisters to breast cancer far, far too young.

All this exposition is to say that, this summer, I've decided to get off the sidelines and be a part of the solution. My dear friend Dara and I are lacing up our walking shoes (and of course, the requisite sports bra) to walk 39.3 miles in 2 days this June in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in Chicago.

It's going to be quite an undertaking for me. I've been struggling to get back into shape since my little man came along, and the thought of walking a marathon one day and a half-marathon the next.... well, it's pretty darn daunting. The training schedule itself looks pretty grueling, particularly when you consider that I'll be pushing 40+ lbs of stroller and baby on all the endurance walks.

And of course, there's the fundraising requirement, which is substantial. but at least with that part, I know you'll be able to help me. More on that in Part Two....

A Decade in the Life: Part Three

Yep, Just Like on 'Sex in the City'

When I left Austin, I closed an important and treasured chapter of my life. My experiences there changed me forever; and frankly, I didn’t know what to expect on returning to Atlanta. As it turned out, a whole new era was about to begin.

Looking back, I know I met the man who is the love of my life once before I even moved back to Atlanta. I’d come home for a visit and to do some work for my friend’s company, where he happened to be working. I remember we had a nice conversation about New Orleans and I thought he was really cute, but that was about it.

Once I did move home, however, and we began working in the same place and hanging out with the same group of friends, it didn’t take long for me to figure out that the cute boy in the lab was a really incredible person himself. I could go on for a while about what makes him so special to me (and lots of other people), but that would embarrass him and bore everyone else.

As we began spending more time together, the primary tension in our relationship was that MD-future-H had always envisioned himself marrying someone Jewish. Someone born Jewish, actually. And so he only dated Jewish women, which obviously I was not. So we oscillated for a few months between dating and not dating [I think he broke up with me three times during this period]. And in the meantime, I found myself reading “Judaism for Dummies,” among other things.

I’d been on a path of spiritual searching for years (far longer than this blog covers), and my close-up experience with Catholicism in Austin had piqued my interest in ancient and ritual-focused religion. So as a relationship with a nice boy spurred me to learn more, I found myself drawn to Judaism at the deepest levels of my being. After further education and mutual soul-searching, MD-future-H and I decided that someone willing to consider conversion and someone willing to consider marrying a convert could make a go of a relationship.

From there, we just followed the path that seemed to be appearing at our feet with each step. We took a Derech Torah class as a precursor to my conversion, where we met lots of great people – some of whom were in the same situation we were, and many who have been our friends ever since. Soon I began studying with Rabbi Analia, one of the most wonderful and wise women I’ve known. She and her husband Mario lead the congregation where we’ve found our spiritual home.

We got engaged in February 2006; MDH knew how much I love Jane Austen, so he took me to see “Pride and Prejudice” at the Alliance Theater, and proposed at a quaint little Italian restaurant before the show. His wonderful family accepted me warmly, and they have never treated me any differently than they would a born Jew.

In May, Rabbi Analia decided I was ready. The Bet Din (conversion panel) and my submersion in the Mikvah (ritual bath) were incredible experiences that marked a whole new era in my life as a Jew-by-Choice. I’m honored to be part of the Jewish community. I am still learning, day by day, what it means to be Jewish, and particularly how to help lead a Jewish household. It will be a lifelong journey and I’m cherishing every moment.

In September 2006, our beloved Rabbis Mario and Analia presided over our beautiful garden wedding. When Analia talked about how my mom and Sam’s dad (who had also died suddenly in April 2002) were both with us in spirit, a sudden breeze blew the white tulle walls of our chuppah high in the otherwise calm air. It was chilling and lovely.

The last three years of my decade have been decidedly different from the first. There have been more losses – both grandmothers, my brother’s best friend, my first boss at the Catholic school (who was always really kind to me). But there have also been tremendous joys, achievements, new friendships and the deepening of old ones. I went back to grad school, completed my Master’s in Counseling and am enjoying the challenges of a new career, one that constantly drives me to reflect and question myself.

For me, the impulsive choices and perpetual newness of the early 2000’s have been replaced by a whole new kind of adventure. In June 2009, we expanded our family with the long-sought addition of our beautiful baby boy. He's an amazing little kid with a funny personality that is already beginning to emerge. Difficulty getting pregnant and the experience of undergoing fertility treatments has helped us -- if at all possible -- to treasure him even more.

I no longer characterize myself as a world traveler – though we did take a fantastic trip to Ireland when I got my counseling degree – but being a mother to our six-month-old son takes me to new places every day. And while no marriage is fail-proof, MDH and I work hard to secure ours to something larger than ourselves, so that we’re not left alone during those inevitable hard times.

And Two the cat is still hanging around, letting us know when the kiddo is crying (as though we can't hear him). She's a decade older than when she came into my life, but not too much worse for the wear. Our family has lots of big plans for the coming months and years; but if 2010-2019 is anything like this past decade, we'll mostly just be holding on tight and trying to enjoy the ride.

A Decade in the Life: Part Two

Neither of us had so much as set foot in Austin before we pulled into town with a U-haul in mid-2000. We got a crappy apartment and I landed another temp job -- this time in the resource development department at the Red Cross, where I was pretty much guaranteed to perform better than the previous temp -- who had been mysteriously (and quite unexpectedly) taken out of the office by the SWAT team one afternoon. A few days with no sign of law enforcement, and I was hired. Thus began my career in fundraising.

For the next year or so, I learned the ropes in development – grant-writing, special events, schmoozing. Meanwhile, our close friendship (usually a good thing) and mutual stubbornness prevented MDexH and I from noticing the cracks in the foundation of our marriage. So we did what married people do – we bought a house, adopted two dogs, and added a kitten (who I found wounded and scared in the drive-thru of a Jack in the Box and brought home in a French-fry box). The music and culture in Austin was everything we’d heard it would be. Life chugged forward.

Until June of 2001, when a devastating event I’d been semi-anticipating most of my life came to fruition. I went home to Atlanta for a friend’s wedding; and made plans to see both my parents along with some of my lifelong friends at home. We’d arranged to pick up my mom – who’d had chronic physical and mental health issues nearly all my life – for lunch a couple days after the wedding.

As I called her to confirm in the days and hours before we were supposed to meet and continually got the machine, I began to have a sinking feeling that all was not right. We’d had a minor spat on the phone right after I arrived in town, and after years of struggling with her through mental illness and its accompanying behaviors, I was worried. When we arrived to pick her up and she didn’t answer the door, I finally called the police to help us get into her apartment and confirm what I’d feared: after years of suffering, the woman who created and nurtured my life and my brother’s had taken her own.

I won’t dwell on this part of my life for long – it could be a book unto itself, one that I’m not ready to write. But I will say that in the days and months following that horrible moment, I learned the depth and capacity of true friendship. Even though much of it is blurry at best, I remember distinctly that every time there was a decision to be made or pain to be faced, there was always the loving and helpful shoulder of a friend nearby to help hold me up.

There are particular friends and family who held my hand through the funeral arrangements, the funeral itself, and cleaning out Mom’s apartment – I haven’t forgotten how much that meant to me. And however strained our relationship might have been before or since, MDexH stood by me from the moment policemen opened the door with the news, and he quite literally kept me from hitting the floor. People sometimes ask how I manage to stay friends with an ex-husband, and I guess times like that are the answer.

A few months later, my personal grief was compounded by our national tragedy on September 11,2001. Again, I could write for hours about my own personal experience during that time. Instead, I’ll speed things up and just say that some typical career stressors at the Red Cross were compounded in the months that followed. So I left my job in 2002 and did another short stint as a freelancer before realizing that I still didn’t quite have the resources and discipline needed to make that career viable.

I ended up back into the world of development at a private Catholic high school. This put me on a new path in a number of ways: career-wise, I was catapulted into far more responsibility than I’d had in the past; socially, I found a group of colleagues who also became amazing friends; and spiritually, I got exposure to a religious culture with which I’d never been very familiar. Things were going swimmingly in my professional life. But by 2003, the strain in our marriage had become palpable, and was beginning to wear down MDexH and me both. Being really great friends was no longer cutting it for either of us, and we separated.

So in June 2003, I moved into my first apartment EVER that was just mine – no family, no roommates, just me. It was 480 square feet, just two rooms with a motel-style air conditioner cooling both, but it was my own little space and I treasured it. There was something amazing about being alone in an apartment, a thousand miles from my hometown, family and friends – it was a little scary and occasionally lonely, but I had an independence there that still makes me proud today.

I was lucky that summer (and beyond) to have the influence and support of many new close friends, in particular a good friend from the school where I worked. She was a wonderful, independent spirit herself and would’ve been an inspiration to me under any circumstances. As it was, she had learned just months after we met that she had a brain tumor, and was faced with invasive treatments as well as the possibility of her own mortality all at once. Never one to take anything lying down, she was determined to continue living life with gusto, and was constantly calling me to go out and explore new activities with her – from swing dancing to karaoke to late-night bowling.

If I’d had any inclination that I was going to sit home and mope about the divorce, she shattered it by saying “I have a brain tumor – what’s your excuse?” And so I went wherever she wanted me to go, made loads of new friends, and learned a lot about myself in the process.

One summer week she purchased from a garage sale the ugliest crocheted duck I’ve ever seen [I say that as though I’ve seen so many… and some of them tasteful!]. She stopped by my apartment while out for a bike ride, claiming she needed the restroom, and left the hideous little duck on my loofah sponge – quite a surprise for me the next morning. It became a game with a group of us: we would secretly try to pass the duck around from friend to friend by sneaking it into one another’s homes. Since then, I’ve learned that many families have a similar tradition with an old fruitcake or summer sausage. I prefer the duck!

For the next year and a half, I lived a life that was truly my own. I kept in touch with friends from Atlanta, of course, but I had the challenge and excitement of forming new friendships and relationships by myself. Since I had no family nearby, I was responsible for filling my own time, taking care of my own needs. It could be hard sometimes, but it was also thrilling to have so much freedom.

I experimented with online dating a little – actually just long enough that I can relate when people talk about the awkwardness of online dating. I developed a couple of relationships that never really had long-term potential, but I learned something valuable from each. One taught me that even an intelligent, strong, self-aware woman can end up in an unhealthy relationship with someone who is emotionally abusive; and the other helped me to see my own worth more clearly and expect the best from myself. Both prepared me in their own way for what was to come.

As 2004 drew to a close, I realized I was ready for another change. I loved my life in Austin in so many ways, but I began to feel rootless there, and missed my friends and family in Atlanta. When I went home to visit over the winter holidays, I realized it was time to find my way back. An old friend came to the rescue, and helped find me a job with his family’s business; while my best friend and her family opened their home to me (are you picking up on a theme yet?).

So in January 2005, I began taking my leave of the city I’d come to adore and the friends who had made it home for me. In that same month, the increasing hardship of the brain tumor’s effects and dwindling hope for recovery cost my dear friend her independence; and she decided to forgo further treatment and move in with her parents in another state. When I saw her that January, she was having trouble finding words, particularly to express her complex emotions. I knew, though, when she hugged me and handed me that horrible little crocheted duck, that she was saying goodbye. She died peacefully two months later surrounded by her family.

By mid-February, I was on my way to Atlanta: music blaring, hot tears rolling down my face, the crocheted duck in the center console, and Two the cat howling in the passenger seat for the entire 15-hour drive.

Lessons from 2008

On New Year's Eve, a few friends converged on our house for a cozy evening of pizza and silly board games. It was wonderful. Earlier that morning, a colleague shared with me a NYE tradition she has: writing down things she wants to leave behind from the old year, and burning them in a bonfire.

So in the middle of the evening, we decided to write the things we want to leave in 2008 on little slips of paper, and toss them into the roaring fire. We didn't share what we'd written, but I imagine the little slips included bad habits, negative events, and even some deep regrets from the past year. For me, it actually turned out to pretty cathartic - a nice symbol of turning the corner into 2009.

All this got me thinking, though, that there are plenty of things I learned in 2008; and while I might want to leave behind the mistakes that created those "learning opportunities," I'd like to believe that I can carry the lessons with me into the years to come.

So here are a few of the keepers from 2008:

1. When you're in a car accident that's not your fault, make sure to ask the other insurance company to compensate for the car's lower resale value before settling the claim. (Grrr!)

2. It turns out that the fudge icing I make for my favorite layer cake also works really well for pecan pralines.

3. If you feel consistently unfocused and scattered, you probably are. It's time to reign it in.

4. Don't neglect your cat's toenails - ours had one actually grow back into her paw because it got so long... Poor kitty!

5. If you order a Jameson's over ice in Dublin, it's considered a "cocktail."

6. It really is okay to change your mind about the direction of your career, the color of your bedroom or your plans for the evening. It doesn't mean you were wrong the first time (or first three times), it just means you changed your mind.

7. I know this is what everyone says, but it's true: running really is all about putting one foot in front of the other.

8. Sometimes living life in the moment means accidentally becoming part of an Irish pub band. No, you don't know the words, so just have another Guinness and fake it.

9. Sometimes when you are completely frustrated and feeling most like giving up, life gives you a miracle that restores your faith and rewards your patience and effort tenfold.

10. Just when you think you can't love someone any deeper.... you can.


So those are 10 of the 10,000 things I learned this year. I'd love to hear what lessons other folks are bringing with them from 2008!!

A Season of Gratitude

Thanksgiving was four days ago, and I finally feel like I might be ready to eat again! We had a wonderful holiday with family and food, a nice wrap-up to a busy but fulfilling few weeks (so busy and fulfilling, in fact, that I haven't blogged in a month!).

Since this is the season of gratitude, I thought I would take a few minutes to express how grateful I am for so many things that make my life rich. I'll admit that this blog is more for my benefit than the reader's, but perhaps you'll bear with me as you contemplate your own feelings of gratitude.

First and foremost, I am grateful for the love of friends, family, and of course, MDH. Without the love and support of the many people I am lucky to have in my life, I would be incredibly lost. There have been many occasions lately on which I've been surrounded by love and laughter -- and those times refresh my spirit in a way that nothing else can.

I am grateful for all the opportunities and challenges this year has presented me. Many times I have been frustrated and exhausted this year, and sometimes I have failed outright. But in every failure and frustration there has been an opportunity to learn something: patience, inner strength, generosity, humor and even a new skill here and there. I'm also grateful for the challenges that are still ahead of me; I know that next year will present me with innumerable opportunities to learn and grow.

During these difficult economic times, I'm more aware than ever how blessed I am to have a warm, safe place to sleep each night; basic good health; consistent food in my belly; and any number of options for how I choose to spend my time. I know that many others don't have these simple things - gifts that I take for granted each day.

It's nice to have a special time of year that reminds us to be grateful; and I hope I can carry some of this gratitude forward to each new day. Just thinking about all for which I am grateful makes me feel calmer, more centered and in many ways... at peace.

So, here's to a peaceful December filled with cold weather, warm friends and grateful hearts!

More Internet Musings

Two blogs ago, I made casual mention of the idea that the Internet has become a communal extension of my brain. I also toyed with the idea that maybe parts of my brain are beginning to atrophy -- or perhaps to be reallocated to another purpose because of disuse. All thanks to the convenience of the knowledge bank that Google puts at my fingertips.

In response, my friend Ross - who is a bona fide member of the technorati and way smarter than I - sent me a link to this fascinating 2003 article, in which author William Gibson expresses some of these same ideas (in a far more interesting way than I did, of course). You can read it yourself, but something I found really cool about it was that someone called Vannevar Bush envisioned something very like the Internet (in structure and purpose), way back in 1945.

For me, this reaffirms a couple of things that have been percolating on the outer edges of my intuition...

One, that the Internet and other modern technologies are in many ways an extension of the way we naturally think and act. Hyperlinks on web pages function much the same way that the human mind functions when processing thoughts and emotions: creating idea-related pathways that spider out in a multitude of directions, rather than a linear path that we simply scroll from top to bottom. Part of my job as a therapist is to try to follow that path, and figure out which "pages" are important, and which are just pass-throughs and distractions on the way to the important stuff.

Secondly, reading about Mr. Bush and his early, limited conceptions of an Internet-like machine, I can't help but wonder who will envision the next major human advance. Maybe it will be one of Bill Gates' or Steve Jobbs' followers, going to work each day on a vast technology campus. Or a part of the military machine, in an eternal race for dominance. Or maybe it will be a science-fiction writer, avid game player, or amateur poet. Someone whose creative energy surpasses the boundaries and limitations of the conceivable, and begins to explore instead the possible.

It seems that Vannevar Bush was a little of all of these things, in his way. It's hard to know if his primitive conceptualization of the Internet was born of professional practicality, free-ranging fantasy, or a little of both. In either case, I like this idea, because it at least hints at the possibility that any of us might create the seed of the the next revolutionary idea -- regardless of the capacity in which we are currently serving mankind.

It may mean that those random daydreams and seemingly silly thoughts we all have sometimes might actually be a window - not just to ourselves but to the future. I don't know about you, but the possibility of future greatness gives me a sort of permission to give in to those thoughts once in a while. Maybe I'll take a few extra moments to stare out the window next time before hurrying back to work.

Plastic Scissor Award #1

Welcome to the inaugural presentation of the Plastic Scissor Awards: an occasional (sporadic) tribute to those who fly in the face of convention, reason, and general good sense in order to follow their passions. To those who insist on learning every lesson the hard way, who shamelessly come back for more after getting their hearts broken, and who rely on the courage of their convictions to guide their creative hands -- even when that means decorating the living room with permanent marker or taking apart your parents' radio to see how it works.

Or, perhaps, getting a master's degree to make less money than before doing something you love...

{I originally thought of calling these the "Golden Scissor Awards" but I was a little concerned that people would confuse me with these folks. Besides, I want to stay true to the spiritual origins of the blog and honor those colorful little safety scissors that so many of us used to give Barbie a permanent punk-rock makeover.}

The first award, appropriately, goes to a fellow counselor and Atlanta native: Samuel T. Gladding. Dr. Gladding is one of the most prolific, knowledgeable and well-respected academics in our field. He writes and teaches from Wake Forest University, where I have no doubt there are long virtual lines on registration day to get into his classes.

That's the stuff for which he gets mainstream recognition....

Yesterday, I was referencing my old group therapy textbook, which Dr. Gladding authored, and I noticed something that didn't hit me the first time I read it last year. You know how some books have a title page before each chapter with a picture, inspiring quote, etc.? Well, apparently Dr. Gladding decided to forego the standard natural imagery and inspiring quotes from Emerson or Thoreau, or even Freud or Jung.

No. Beneath the black and white picture that begins each chapter of the book, Dr. Gladding includes a selection of poetry. His own poetry. About the group process in therapy. No kidding. Here are some snippets:


We sit like strangers in hard-backed chairs

at right angles from each other -

On the corners our sentences meet

reflecting our thoughts and our lives

Slowly, messages in our minds

make a move, a personal process
whose destination is undetermined


and


A fan of Garfield, Snoopy, Calvin and Hobbes

He names his erasers after one he called "Bob"

And further stimulates the group's sensations

By using his growing imagination.



Now, I can't think of a better way to encapsulate the idea of the plastic scissor award than this. To have the courage, in the high-brow world of academia, to chuck tradition and put yourself out there by sharing poetry that is -- let's face it -- pretty terrible from an artistic perspective, but which expresses your creative passion for your work.

Is Dr. Gladding going to win a Nobel Prize in Literature or a Bridport Award? Probably not. I'm not exactly a likely candidate either [and believe me, I've written far worse poetry than this in my day]. But you have to admire the joy he seems get from the process of writing and sharing, and from the work that inspires him to do so.

I mean, when was the last time you felt passionate enough about your vocation that you thought about writing a poem? Maybe we should all be so fortunate. Doesn't a rockstar software implementation deserve a killer song to go with it? Or perhaps an interpretive dance about beating this month's sales quota. I successfully finished a project, I think I'll write a haiku!

I'm only being a little bit fecetious. So many people I know get so caught up in surviving their jobs and their lives that they don't give themselves time to rejoice in the journey and celebrate the victories.

So in honor of (and with sincerest apologies to) Dr. Samuel T. Gladding, and the first-ever Plastic Scissor Award, I'd like to invite readers to comment with a poem, song, or pure exclamation of joy about some part of your job. It can be a haiku, limerick, freestyle or simple A-B rhyming couplets. It can be about the job you have, the job you want, or the really nice breakroom where you work.

If you need some additional inspiration, try this very bad poetry site. Good luck!

Or it could be Asiago, I'm not sure

I went to dinner with some friends last night, and a friend of mine - who is in Atlanta for the weekend from out of town - made me feel very special when he explained that he reads this blog regularly as one way of keeping in touch with me from afar. Awww.... how sweet.

Then, of course, he went right into giving me some constructive criticism. "You know," he said, "you don't have to write about something so serious every time. It's okay to just write your random thoughts." Or something to that effect. So it really is true - everyone's a critic!

What's funny (or, perhaps totally un-funny) is that these ARE my random thoughts. This is, no kidding, totally the way my mind works. So does that mean the hamster running on the wheel in my brain -- who I always imagine looks a little like Ernest Borgnine in a velour sweatsuit, and has an affinity for strong cheeses -- is actually a frequent guest columnist for Psychology Today? I don't know, but it would definitely explain why I get a huge Gorgonzola sculpture of Carl Jung in the mail every Christmas.

Anyway, in honor of those who love me enough to point out my flaws, today's blog is short and sweet:

For me, hanging out with my friends is one of life's greatest pleasures; in part because they help me remember to not take myself -- or my blog -- too seriously. I am blessed to have so many great people in my life: new friends, very old friends, beer buddies, teammates, co-workers and even one or two old flames.

In my experience, the ones who will make fun of your experimental cooking [btw, deviled eggs with curry - NOT a good idea], point out publicly that you have something in your teeth, and who painfully remind you of every stupid thing you've ever done (which for me isn't so much a list as a mutli-volume treatise), those are the same people who will go to the mat for you when you need them. Every time.

Whether I remember to say so or not, I am grateful for them every single day. Laughing and crying with my friends refreshes my spirit and heals my pain. I know that sounds cheesey, but hey - it's what the hamster wants.

Love, Life & Loss

It would be impossible to write genuinely this week without first mentioning Sean. So I won't even try.

Sean Costello, a close family friend of ours and an unparalleled blues guitarist, died suddenly last week, to the dismay of all of us who knew him, and many who did not. This amazing young man, who I have known since he was 10 years old picking out complex guitar riffs with my brother in our basement, was just shy of his 29th birthday when he died. As many at his funeral and in the news articles have pointed out, he seemed to have a bright future ahead of him, both musically and personally. I know that his death leaves many -- not just those of us who knew him -- shaking our heads in sadness for the loss of such a wonderful spirit, and all that would've been created through him.

With his loss, we are also appreciating all that he did create: the tortured strains of his prodigious blues guitar seem to sound sadder and sweeter today than they ever have. If you knew Sean or loved his music, then please know that I'm sharing deeply today in your loss and grief. If you've never had the pleasure, do yourself a favor and visit his website or his myspace page, because Sean's music says it better than my words ever could.

It seems that death -- and sudden or unjust death in particular -- always seems to make us stop and re-evaluate where we are in our own lives. Many of us become reconnected with our spirituality and take a second look at our priorities. I've also read that whenever you lose someone important to you, you grieve not just that person's death, but every loss you've experienced before that as well. So in that sense, grief can be thought of as cumulative. Each loss has a more powerful impact on us because of all the losses before it.

For the average person reading this blog, that means increasing levels of sorrow that build slowly over a lifetime (hopefully one that is also filled with tremendous amounts of joy). For people who experience overwhelming losses -- the death of a child, the loss of an entire family, the horrors of genocide -- I can only imagine what a tremendous burden the grief is to bear.

Like many people, my own experiences with death have been wide-ranging -- from losses of close family members and friends to those with whom I shared a less intimate connection. Each experience has impacted me differently, bringing forth a different combination of shock, sadness, occasional relief, and on some level, joy.

I believe that in every death, there is an opportunity to find a new sense of joy and fulfillment in our lives. (I suspect this is true for all losses: whether it's a loved one, relationship, job, or even an idea we once held about ourselves or the world.)

When someone is taken from us, or chooses to walk away, we lose the closeness and intimacy we once had with them. But we also gain a perspective - painful though it is - on just how much that person impacted our lives. We have an opportunity then to honor them by relishing what was good in them, telling stories, singing, laughing, remembering, and learning as much as we can from the experience.

And if grief is cumulative, why not joy? Why shouldn't every moment we live be buoyed up and enhanced by the joy from our past, as much as it is grounded and made real by our losses?

My Rabbi, a wise and compassionate woman, once told me that we keep people alive by telling stories about them - passing on their legacy to future generations. She wanted me to know that even though my future children will never get to know my mother in person (she died when I was 25), they will know her through the stories I tell about her, the pictures I show them, and the way I honor and attempt to embody her spirit in myself.

It occurs to me that in many ways, I am made up of the people I have known and loved. Those who are still a part of my life continue to influence and enrich me every day. At times like this, I notice and appreciate them more. I try to hold them a little dearer. But the mark left on my soul by those who have moved on is more poignant: carved into relief by the sharpness of finality. I carry it all with me, I carry them with me, in everything I do.

From my maternal grandfather I carry the solace of long afternoon walks, a love of old things, the ability to laugh at myself, and a fanatical loyalty to the Atlanta Braves. His wife, my grandmother, taught me that personal strength can flourish well below the surface, and that a good laugh and a positive attitude can make almost any situation bearable. From my paternal grandfather I got a sense of history, strong work ethic, and the knowledge that a person doesn't need to talk much to command respect. And my paternal grandmother taught me to fish, to love the outdoors, and that a good story is worth far more than money -- even if you occasionally have to exaggerate the details for effect.

From my dear friend Laura, courage: to embrace life fully every single day, despite all its imperfections and hardships, to sing karaoke even when you're terrible at it, and to do the right thing no matter what anyone might say or think about you. And from my mother, I bring a thousand things. Among them, a love of music (even though, sadly, I didn't inherit her talent for it), a warm and easy laughter, and a generous spirit that reminds me no matter how bad my life or situation might seem, there is always a neighbor or friend who needs my help.

And as for Sean, even though it had been many years since we'd been in frequent contact, I will take with me his broad, shy smile (always my favorite among the facial expressions for which he was so well known), his music, and the way he proved every day that with passion and courage, any of us can defy, exceed, and redefine the expectations that seem to govern our lives. Wherever Sean is, wherever all those congregate who have been lost to this world, I believe with my whole heart that the message is the same for him as it is all of us....

Play on.