Acceptance/Mass Neuroses

So this is what acceptance looks like!  I finally have long stretches where my heart is at peace, my mind not whirring.  I think it was getting the keepsake letter and accepting that it was written so much in the past tense.  And Kaveh reading it and saying, “I don't doubt you were both head-over-heels in love, but he is no longer in love with you.”  You would think I would be in a tailspin but I’m not.  I sighed a deep audible sigh and, with that sigh, the last of my illusions and hopes were expelled from my body.  Now I just need to pick up the pieces.  

It reminds me of a piece I wrote late last winter. 

I am lying here in pieces.  I am a mess.  The stress finally got to me.  Everyone else saw the cracks - they warned me I couldn't burn the candle at both ends indefinitely.  I am not Jack - he does that whole jumping over the flame thing without getting burned.  I just rolled and rolled myself all over town - cocky, invincible, a good egg.  And everyone wanted to roll with me..wanted to hang with a smooth dude who was going places.  But now?  Here I am laying next to a wall, vulnerable, exposed, sunny-side-up, soon to be scrambled.  That's how it ends for me.  I'm incurable.  All the king's horses and all the king's men can't do anything for me.

That was written when I thought I had lupus.  Thankfully, the tests came back negative.  For a week or so, I honestly thought I was doomed.  Lupus is an awful disease that you can live with, but it also can be pernicious and attack your vital organs with fatal results.  When I thought I had the disease, I hated humanity -  I hated that everyone I passed on the street appeared to be healthy, that they would be on this earth long after I had succumbed.  I hated having my future taken from me.   And what's important to remember is that I would have given ANYTHING to have the types of problems I'm having today:  heartbreak, financial, work ennui, kid problems.   These are problems that can be overcome.  Health problems are another ball of wax.  So I will add to my list of things to do - give thanks every day for my health.  I will try and honor my body each day and nurture it with all the things it needs. 

You all know I’ve been a Weight Watcher for 5+ years.  I’m a superstar, having lost 125 pounds.   I’m working on at least 50 more.  Today I had lunch with my employee/dear friend, Dorothy.   She and I talked about Weight Watchers and weight loss specifically.  My other friend has been on a partial liquid diet, hoping to lose 100 pounds by next spring, and my other friend is doing a lemonade fast.  Wait, my other friend, who I just had a low cal dinner with on Monday, just described her weight loss program and my old personal trainer did a vegan cleanse thing. My aunt who was just in town does a bi-yearly cleanse to lose a bit of weight and feel better. Yesterday I lunched with my employee Mark and he described his successful weight regime program. My sister just joined Overeaters Anonymous and talks about being abstinent which I’m sure doesn’t mean she is totally abstinent from eating food or she’d be napping on the wrong side of the grass!  Is there anyone who is not struggling with body issues?  I just boggled my own mind as I ran down the list of my friends and realized this is an obsession! 

What does this mean!!!???– this preoccupation with body size? It certainly is worth noting that, almost without exception, EVERYONE I know is struggling with their weight and fixated on making improvements or lamenting their lack of success.   It is such a focus!  It’s THE focus these days.

Here’s a theory.   We all have eating disorders, every single one of us.   We have bought into cultural expectations and we don’t think we can be happy unless we conform.  I am convinced I would still be in a relationship with you-know-who if I had been 50 pounds thinner.   My friend Liza is sure if she can just take off the last 20 pounds (she has shed 30+ recently), her life will align and all her problems will dissolve.  My male friends are sure that, only if they slim down, will they find true love. It goes on and on and on and on.  We are unique individuals but it appears we all share an unloving attitude towards our bodies, our physical appearance – we never measure up, we don’t bear scrutiny. 

And I get the health reasons for being thinner – believe me.   I am living proof that losing weight enhances quality of life.  I no longer have acid reflux, I don’t snore, my joints don’t ache, I can exercise.   It’s wonderful to be getting right weighted.  But shouldn’t we do a better job with body acceptance and forgiveness?  I like a man with some excess weight – it makes me feel  smaller in his presence, but what I find is that those men who carry extra weight don’t return the favor – they think they are entitled to someone trim and fit.   It doesn’t make sense.

Years from now, I expect there will be analysis done on this time in history in America and maybe a conclusion drawn that there was mass neuroses around body image in the early 21^st century.   Historians may examine the phenomenon in context of what was happening in the world at the time and draw a conclusion that America was on the wane, that its citizens were confused, worried, felt neutered, victims of pop culture, lost their compass, lost their raison d’etre – and as a result they turned to the only thing they could control, their bodies.   Rome burned as Americans ran on their treadmills, elliptical trainers, measured their fat with calipers and held themselves and others to impossible body standards.   Fat became the only enemy you could conquer.  Control.

The challenge today is to think about bodies and what is healthy and what is neurotic.  If you are mentally and physically punishing yourself to be thinner, if you are putting your life on hold until you are fitter, if you have ended a relationship with someone because he or she wasn’t Abercrombie sexy, if eating gives you anxiety, if you are constantly guilt ridden and fixated, what the hell!   You’ve been brainwashed!   You’ve let someone else write an agenda for you!  So yes, I will continue to eat healthily and take daily exercise, but I’m not going to let ANYONE instill doubts in me about my beauty.   I love what I see when I look in the mirror -  I am gorgeous and sexy (ask Warren).  So when Joe says, “it’s not your face that needs work,” or James says, “you don’t have the legs for fishnets, or an ex boyfriend says insensitively, “When I  met you, I had second thoughts,” or when a friend who is thin complains she is fat when you are much heavier, I will say to them, "WTF!!!!  Get your priorities straight.   Look for the beauty, not the flaws, god damn it, and start caring about something that matters!!!"  Acceptance.


Peace,
Sarah

Broken Stories/Continuity and Reciprocity

Talked with Kaveh today - my weekly phone session with him.  He relocated to Louisville, KY so the phone it is.  I've done this therapy thing for years now, dunno - 4+ years? - something like that. It is something I want to share with you because it has been incredibly useful to me. Remember the list I made when I took stock of myself? I knew therapy had to be on that list of self improvements - that without committing to therapy nothing else on the list would be doable.

And really my introduction to therapy was kicking and screaming.  My therapy was an offshoot of my youngest daughter's problems. It became evident to the professionals that she couldn't be better if I didn't get better - we are inextricably close and over-identified with each other, so our issues spill over between us.   I love my daughter so, as pissed as I was at having to look at my issues, I did it because I could leave no stone unturned to meet her therapeutic needs.

We all have a life story that defines us.   Most peoples' stories are a blend of tragic and sweet, victories, losses, character defining events, personality developing relationships.  Most people have had enough stability and foundation in their lives to be forward moving.  From time to time they may need to revisit their story, take stock, tweak some changes, contend with some necessary losses - in order to move forward to the next stage of their lives.  For these people, therapy is more about getting unstuck, making some course corrections, applying some gas to their lives, taking risks, being brave.  They need a therapist to help them with forward momentum.

And then there are the broken people, whose stories either are so awful, or who may have suffered such trauma that they don't even have a coherent story to tell, or their stories are a jumble of reality and magical thinking with the boundary between the two, reality and fantasy, blurred.  For these people, therapy is about going back into the terrifying swamp of their childhood and untangling what really happened, making sense of it, looking at traumatic events with grown up eyes, having your therapist be a witness as you relive horrific moments (and hopefully then are able to leave them in the past versus recreating them over and over again in the present), and re-writing a story that is useful to you that will support growth.

I like the words that Kaveh crafted on the home page of his website:


We believe in the basic developmental ideas of continuity and reciprocity. As such we recognize that our experiences are not linear and always occur in a broader interpersonal context.We believe that symptoms form in an effort to memorialize and communicate our suffering and are often solutions to complicated emotional difficulties.  Therefore, understanding and self-acceptance often occur in retrospect, by visiting the emotional injuries that trouble us.When we disown our experiences we are left susceptible to repetition of the very experiences we wish to leave behind.  So, we talk and remember in order to work towards meaning, self-acceptance and self-determination.

Do you get what he is saying here?  I believe he is saying, if you suffered trauma and are broken, you are haunted by the trauma.   It's like the person who revisits the scene of an accident over and over and over again, "if only I had left five minutes later,  if I had had only worn different shoes, if I had been driving the car with the anti-lock brakes, if, if, if.....and they can't let it go.  They keep replaying the accident over and over in their heads, as if by revisiting it, they can rewrite history, fix history with magic and find peace.  Too often we bring childhood traumas to our present relationships, we recreate the things that happened to us with those we love, because we want to gain control over the past, we want to finally get it right this time, we want to rewrite history, to undo what happened.  But of course that can't happen unless we are Superman and can actually cause the Earth to spin backwards and reverse time.  The goal in deep therapy is to go back in time, relive the trauma but with the understanding of an adult, and then leave the trauma in the past where it belongs.   It's so hard, but it's the only way to be free.

Today my mother left Chicago in a truck with all her possessions, bound for Boston to live with my sister.   She never said good-bye.  She would say I never said good-bye to her.  Kaveh told me that unless I free myself of needing her motherly love, which will never come in a proper way, I will continue to poison current relationships.   I will keep recreating the loss and just like someone setting up bowling pins, I will set things up for people to leave me, just as my parents left me....I will replay the tragedy over and over again, always trying to get it right, but really just picking at a scab on a wound that will never heal - perpetuating the loss.

The challenge today is to think about your own story.  Is it a good one?   Are you emotionally healthy and forward moving, content with the arc of your life, shedding the old and embracing the new?  Or, if you are stuck, do you just need a kick in the ass or are you in crisis?  If you are in crisis and you are finding you just can't use sheer will to power through your life any more, is it because you are living a broken story?  Do you need to go back into the swamp of your childhood and revisit the scary times?  I hope you don't because doing this kind of work is not for the faint of heart....it takes true grit and it is very painful.

Peace,
Sarah

Picture is from Kaveh's website, www.eastendpsychology.com

The Letter/A Message for Him

The letter.  Read and read again with more and more appreciation.  It truly is something to treasure always. It is heartfelt, warm, wistful, passionate and wise. I am so incredibly grateful for everything, for it all, for every minute with you, every memory, your wisdom and above all, your love.   I will be fine Patrick, and

I will always love you,
Sarah

PS.  Sorry to be public about this, but I didn't want to break my promise.

Our Tribe/Healing from the Outside In

Another Monday!  We've got to stop meeting this way! I survived the weekend, barely - I cobbled together a few good times, some good phone conversations, a bit of interesting reading, but there was also gut wrenching heartache that I had to either do battle with or just surrender to.  I'm getting really good at this being sad thing.  I'm thinking about auditioning for some really sad part in a play, musical or opera like Camille, or Anna Karenina or Violetta in La Traviata - I would be shoe-in.

This morning a fresh start, a fresh week, the beginnings of true acceptance, a solemn vow made for no communication, a decision to live.   I'm walking the walk, literally and figuratively.  Up at 5:45 and 1/2 hour on the elliptical trainer to the tunes of Anita O'Day.  Then out the door with Joey to the beach and an hour of walking for me.  It was gorgeous today - surf was up a bit and the lake sparkled.  Dogs and owners were nice although these days, I prefer sitting alone on the sand by myself looking out to the lake - a quiet time for contemplation.   And Joey sensed the tragic heroine in me today and spent half his time with me, loving me.  I mean really loving me.   He threw himself into my arms and I'm not sure who was holding who.  I clutched him, probably too hard, and pressed him to my heart and kissed him over and over and over again.  He leaned into me with his Labrador head on my heart as if to say, "you'll be OK, it's still beating in there."   Oh my God, that dog loves me and I him.

And the lake also seemed to sense my sadness because it threw me gift.  Every day, I scour the water line for smooth, paintable flat rocks - little ones. Usually I find one or two - today I filled my pockets with these presents from the "sea" that must have been thrown up onto the beach in the last day or two.    I've been collecting them all summer with an art project in mind.  Years ago when my kids were little and went to hippy school (Waldorf), I painted little quarter-sized stones with realistic faces.  Each face took me the better part of an hour to create - they were all different: naughty little boys with spiky red hair and freckles, blushing ingenues, Veronica Lake hair-over-one-eye women, grandmothers, trollish faces, etc. The Waldorf School has a holiday fair each year and there is one adorable room that adults aren't allowed into.  It's the toddler holiday shopping room and you have to be under four feet to get in.  The babes are given money to spend (the money is acorns) and little paper satchels to place their purchases.  Each item for sale has a sign that pictorially depicts how many acorns the item costs.   Anyway, my little rocks were quite the hit - they each fetched a few acorns.   I will donate rock faces again this year - it is therapy like basket weaving but hopefully not as nutty (wait that was a joke, right? nutty, acorns?)

Sitting on the beach I looked at my legs with some recent bruises and cuts from Joey (he is a puppy after all - isn't always careful with me).  In contemplating my wounds, I noticed how the healing always starts from the outside and works its way toward the center.  I remembered years ago when I seriously burned my chest with boiling water while canning peaches.  I gave myself 2nd and 3rd degree burns.  Almost all my chest blistered and when the blistered skin fell away, I was left with a chest with no first layer of skin.  It was fascinating because I had no idea how the skin would grow back.  Every day, I noted the healing and soon I saw new baby skin growing from the outside edges of the open wounds.  Each day the skin grew by centimeters until eventually the new skin overtook the wound and covered the rawness - from the outside of the wound to the inside.

So, I left the beach and decided that, while meditation and contemplation are inevitable and necessary, the real healing of my heart is going to have to come from the outside and work its way inwards.  There is no balm that can be directly applied that will provide any measure of relief.   The outside consists of the activities I schedule each day, the things I do to take care of myself however reluctantly, the friends I spend time with, the new songs I learn, the things I create, and the image I project even if I feel fraudulent.  I walked the lakefront path, head up, a deliberate smile on my face,  I even sang under my breath.   I made myself establish eye contact with each and every person I passed and I gave them my most winning smile and said mirthfully, "Good morning!"  Many people were startled out of their own reveries, but they all seem pleased, and they mostly said a hearty, "Good morning" back" and smiled genuinely.  During that walk I felt connected to every person I encountered, and as I jumped in the car with Joey, I realized that is as it should be.  We ARE all connected to each other whether we like it or not.   Just like the dogs at the beach who come in every size and shape, we are connected by virtue of being human beings, we are connected as a species.

So the challenge today may be to realize you are connected to the people you encounter today. If aliens invaded the earth we would become very possessive of each other and band together as a species regardless of our differences. We are a huge tribe.  Or if there were some horrendous accident and humans were reduced to paltry numbers (this actually happened about 70,000 years ago - the human population which had been growing nicely was reduced to about 1,000 individuals. We almost went extinct when, what is now Yellowstone, blew up - a super volcano.)  If that happened again and there were only 1,000 lonely souls rattling around the earth, each time we encountered another human being we would rush to each other and say with relief, "Thank God, another human!"  We belong to each other.  Now, even though I feel connected to you, when I meet you on the street, unlike the dogs at the beach, I'm not going to sniff your butt -  but do know I'm grateful you are on the earth with me - grateful to have a tribe.

Peace,
Sarah

Picture is of the death of Violetta - La Traviata - she died of consumption.

SpiderJazz/Endings

Sunday...and today there is a fall breeze in the air, it's lovely but sad too, lazy days of August are almost at a close.   The end of something..the start of something.   Today I'm struggling.  The promised keepsake letter came last night and I'm trying to be OK with it.   I'm grateful for the letter, grateful that he thinks enough of me to take the time to craft it, and yet...it's the final action and the letter was....oh, well, I'll be private about it, it's just that....never mind.  Suffice to say the relationship has reached the final chapter, finally.   He has moved on, I am accepting that reality.  I am bruised but alive.   This post will be the last time I mention him in this blog.

Saturday night I went to see my friend and teacher Spider Saloff sing at Katerina's.   She is incredible, a jazz singer that really knows how to put over a lyric, and a sometimes cabaret singer who brings an appreciation of jazz discipline to her songs.  Really the best of both worlds. This summer she took her fabulous one woman show to Australia and LA and hopes to perform it next in a good venue in Chicago.  In the show, she assumes about eight different characters (both men and women) and does quick back-turned costume changes between the roles. She is amazing. I found myself actually forgetting that it was Spider up there!  Spider's Website is worth checking out!  Let me know if you would like to come with me to hear her sing sometime.

OK....I'm trying to be plucky and I will be plucky, but do I have to be plucky here?   I promised you honesty.   Today is the end of something that meant the world to me....I am not OK.  But I will be OK.  Is it OK for me to just be a mess today?   I promise it will just be today.  Before I met Patrick I had about given up on being loved.  This is what I wrote in my journal just weeks before meeting him:

A ceremony is in order.  I will wait for the next full moon.  I will summon the spirits of my three dead fathers.  I will threaten them with purgatory if they don't behave.  I will dig a hole at least 4' deep and I will find dead things to bury:  little Elvis with his halfway beheaded skull, Tuda's ashes, Nichols bloodied collar I saved all these years.  Then I'll throw in some eye-of-newt (where can I buy eye-of-newt and what is eye-of-newt anyway?), and that double mink stole thing that my mother gave me, two flattened little minks encircling each other, their jaws made into clips biting each others' tails - little beady glass eyeballs, looking unhappy at what has become of them.


I record my voice.  I bought one of those greeting cards where you can create a personal message by talking into it.  Solemnly, I speak three words into the card, then close it and open it again to make sure the recording worked.  It did. I take the card and place it in a safe-box, the kind that will withstand fire, pestilence, earthquake, bird flu, whatever.  I lock it.


Gently, I place the box in the hole with the dead things.  I sing.  The night and the fathers listen.  I may die with that box still in the ground.  It will only be dug up and opened if someone utters those three words to me first.  I will never say them again until then.

(and then,)

"So, Mrs. H., what are you here for today?" the check-in receptionist shuffled the intake papers and peered over her glasses at the pretty nervous woman in front of her.  She knew full well why Mrs. H. was there - they all came for the same thing once they'd reached a certain disappointed age.


"Ah..I'm here to see Dr. Doomly.  He knows why I'm here," Sylvia slumped and stared at her feet.


"Come this way dearie.  Let's get you ready."  Sylvia shuffled after the clerk into a luminescent, futuristic room with walls that glowed happy images in time to a Bee Gees Song - carefully chosen images and music geared to calm the nerves of the 50/60 year old women who found their way to it.


Sylvia sank into a poofy chair that all but swallowed her up.  The music changed - Barbra Streisand, how ironic.  Sylvia had just heard an anecdote about when Barbara was first given the song, People Who Need People.  Barbra had said, "This is a ridiculous tune.  People who don't need people are the luckiest people in the world!"  She sang the song under protest but went on to live her life with a callous and impenetrable heart.


Sylvia's problem was the opposite.  Her heart was too porous.  It had been ridden hard and put away wet.  It was time to protect what little was left. The young overly cheery doctor entered the room. "Ah, Mrs. H....you're here.  Are you 100% sure you want to go through with this?  Once we perform a love-otomy, it cannot be reversed. You wll never love again.  Are you sure?"


"I'm sure," Sylvia responded sadly.

There is no challenge today, except for maybe checking out Spider.   Oh, and it would be lovely if you would call me and make plans for lunch or dinner. I really need you these days.  And if you happen to know someone really nice.....

Peace, Sarah

PS.  Picture is of Spider...I had Patrick's picture here before but I removed it...a) I'm not sure he would like it here even though it's not searchable - no where on this blog is his last name and I'm sure he has this same picture on his Facebook and b) it's too painful to scroll my blog and see him

Crossroads/Risk Blossoming

There was a magical moment years ago when I got tired of living the way I was and, in my journal, I made a list of all the things in my life that needed changing.   I didn't realize it was a special day at the time, didn't realize that day marked the end of old ways of being and the beginning of a new life - I was just taking stock of myself as I had done in the past from time to time.  The difference was, I think, writing the list, and then tackling just one thing on it.  I actually forgot about the list as I went about the business of making changes, forgot that I had made it until six months later when I read back through my journal.  I discovered the entry and realized with amazement that in six months I had actively taken steps to remedy each of the identified problems. 

I'm not a particularly airy-fairy person, not mystical or superstitious, but it seems there was something self-fulfilling about creating a thoughtful, realistic list, getting it on paper, organizing some thought around it and then sending those wishes out into the world of possibilities.  And of course, taking baby steps to do the hard work.

This is the amazing thing when you take a single tentative step.   It's not that hard and the next step is easier, and so forth.  Soon you have tangible progress under your belt and with that, comes more energy to take on other stuff.  It becomes your new inertia .   Most people think of inertia as something negative, stasis.  But the definition of inertia is, "the property of matter by which it retains its state of rest or its velocity along a straight line so long as it is not acted upon by an external force."   When you start to make positive changes in your life, it is self perpetuating, you "retain a state of velocity along a straight line" of self improvement.   The hard part is the "external force" - changing the current state.  It requires a lot of energy to move from a state of rest to a state of velocity - and courage - and optimism -and a bit of foolhardiness to trade in the known for the unknown.

Anais Nin says, "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."  I think that's where the crossroad is between old ways and new ways, when it's just too painful to continue as you have been.  Something triggers and you just decide, today is the day.   I am going to drink my coffee black this morning and throw the half and half down the drain.   Maybe you put your cigarettes down the disposal.  Maybe you call your friend who has been trying to get you into therapy for years and ask for the therapist's number. And here's the weird thing - change is so much easier than we think it's going to be.  It's actually invigorating and fun, even if it comes with discomfort.  It makes you feel alive and hopeful.

Last night I was an "in the moment" kind of gal.  My evening plans fizzled and I contemplated going to my voice coach's Friday gig by myself - no one was interested in hanging out.  But first some delicious time in my pretty bedroom with the Breakup Book that I didn't want to end, it had become an instant lifeline.  Then a call to Liza who was home taking care of her kids and not able to go out. She was dispirited, her life is SOO hard these day - it boggles the mind, all that she has on her plate.   She has, of late, lost her fighting spirit which is devastating because she is the fire in her family's belly, without her pushing and solving, they will flounder.  The moment dictated that I talk with her at length about the problems facing her.   It is the very least I could do - she has been there for me every single step of the way through this tough breakup of mine, holding my head above water when I risked slipping below the surface.   If I'm doing better, it is in large part to her loving ministrations, her always-there-ness.

Her problems are so serious and there is nothing I can do to solve them - all I have to offer is a compassionate ear, encouragement, and humor.   Liza and I both have twisted senses of humor. We use humor and cynicism as a wound balm.  An extreme example of Liza's ability to prevail in the face of unbelievable tragedy-in-the-making is when her baby was in the hospital dying of meningitis (he barely survived).  He was in a coma and Liza and her mother kept a constant awake vigil at his bedside.  They were punch drunk sleepless but they never faltered in their vigil.  At one point they were so tired and sad that they were reduced to tears and laughter.  First the tears then the laughter and they made joke after joke about the baby's plight, how he may never regain consciousness, (ha!, ha!).  And so forth.

So last night, I fanatisized with Liza about devious plots to do horrible things to people who are causing her unspeakable pain.  We talked about the least painful ways of offing ourselves. And we laughed and laughed as the plans we spun became more far fetched, ridiculous and complicated. It's wonderful to have a friend you can share your darkest thoughts with about harming yourself and have them not be freaked out, but instead talk it through so that you can let it vent, the poisonous gas released harmlessly into the air - the ridiculousness of it revealed through satire.   I won't go into details, but let me say, both Liza and I have some really great material for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).  Good to get it out, even better to take the pain and create something from it.

The challenge today is to think about your current state of inertia.   Are you in stasis or is your state of inertia forward moving?  If you are stuck, can you summon a burst of energy to change the state of your inertia?  Find it in you to make one significant change, even if it as small as taking your vitamins every day?  I wish this for you.


Peace,
Sarah

Lightness of Touch/Kiss The Joy As It Flies

I have weekend anxiety.  I did my darndest to script a fun weekend full of friends but just about everyone bailed on me for one reason or another.  Last weekend was the first since mid-June when I didn't feel like dying - it was such a relief to turn that corner.  But here I am -a swath of time looming in front of me with no concrete plans and it's terrifying - terrifying to be alone with my own thoughts. Really just terrifying to be alone.

Liza got me a book called "It's Called a Breakup Because It's Broken" - it is surprisingly helpful.  I would be less than honest if I didn't admit that I still cling to the possibility that Patrick and I will be together again. We still love each other and where there is love, there has to be hope, right?  This book would have me divest myself of that hope.  I quote: "But some things can be fixed," you say: True but can your relationship be fixed?  Anything is possible but we'd say probably not.  Generally, if one person thinks the breakup is the right move, they're probably right even if it feels so wrong. Because unless there are two people putting on the coveralls and getting down in the trenches with some duct tape and superglue and a fierce determination, it isn't going to happen. Need more convincing?  How about this:  The person you loved took a good long look the awesomeness that is you, evaluated your relationship together, and said, "No thanks.  I'll try my luck elsewhere"...anyone who assesses you or your relationship as disposable is not worthy of your time or tears."

This makes sense to me....it's broken, he doesn't want to fix it, it's time to move on and find someone who is looking for me too - who won't take a pass and bail on me when there are conflicts and obstacles.  In the meantime I need to get good at this alone thing.  The reason last weekend worked was because it was filled with never ending distractions - I was surrounded with fun, hilarity, friends, music, cooking, new people to meet, catching up with old friends.   All of this was great, but it has to be a bit suspect when the only way I'm OK is with a constant dose of distraction. It all comes down to that clinging, attachment thing.  Clinging to the familiarity and comfort of the past, trying to replicate it, reconstructing it with new players even when it brings you the same pain - and fear of the future.

I like what Anne Morrow Lindbergh has to say about relationships:

A good relationship has a pattern like a dance and is built on some of the same rules.  The partners do not need to hold on tightly, because they move confidently in the same pattern, intricate but gay and swift and free, like a country dance of Mozart's.  To touch heavily would be to arrest the pattern and freeze the movement, to check the endlessly changing beauty of its unfolding.  There is no place here for the possessive clutch, the clinging arm, the heavy hand; only the barest touch in passing.  Now arm in arm, now face to face, now back to back - it does not matter which.  Because they know they are partners moving to the same rhythm, creating a pattern together, and being invisibly nourished by it. 


The joy of such a pattern is not only the joy of creation or the joy of participation, it is also the joy of living in the moment.  Lightness of touch and living in the moment are intertwined.  One cannot dance well unless one is complete in time with the music, not leaning back to the last step or pressing forward to the next one but poised directly on the present step as it comes.  Perfect poise on the beat is what gives good dancing its sense of ease, of timelessness, of the eternal.  It is what Blake was speaking of when he wrote:

He who bends to himself a joy

Doth the wing'ed life destroy;

But he who kisses the joy as it flies

Lives in Eternity's sunrise.

The dancers who are perfectly in time never destroy "the wing'ed life" in each other or in themselves. But how does one learn this technique of the dance? Why is it so difficult?  What makes us hesitate and stumble?  It is fear, I think, that makes one clutch greedily toward the next.  Fear destroys "the winged life."  But how to exorcise it?  It can only be exorcised by its opposite, love. When the heart is flooded with love there is no room in it for fear, for doubt, for hesitation.  And it is this lack of fear that makes for the dance.  When each partner loves so completely that he has forgotten to ask himself whether or not he is loved in return; when he only knows that he loves and is moving to its music - then, and then only, are two people able to dance perfectly in tune to the same rhythm.

And that is my work and my prayer - to live gracefully in the moment today, whether or not it is populated with a riot of friends or whether I enjoy a solitary evening singing to myself or reading.  And even though the relationship with Patrick is over, it is alive in my heart and I am nourished by it  - and yet I know I mustn't cling to it.  My life has been buoyed by the love we had - we experienced heights of joy I can still summon. I am comforted to know he is still alive in the world and that he loves me still -  I know if I was ever in deep trouble he would come to me.  And I love him enough to kiss him to the wind with an unselfish prayer that he finds what he needs in his life.

The challenge today is to think about Blake's words.  Are you grasping and clutching at something or someone you are afraid to release, even though the very act of clinging is slowly killing that very thing?  Or, in your important relationships, are you "kissing the joy as it flies", knowing you can't pin the moment like a butterfly, that only by letting go, can you preserve something?  Ah...the impermanence of relationships and the challenge of treasuring just the moment and the day.  This Living Well thing is tough!

The Killing Frost

It's hard to stay crabby on a day when the lighting outside is so beautiful! I love this time of year as we drift into Fall. The change in the sun's rays is subtle now, but certainly noticeable - this morning everything is dappled in the most lovely way - did you see it too?  I woke to thwarted plans, having locked my keys in my car last night when I was at writing group - I ended up having to leave it in downtown Evanston and get a ride home.  This morning, no dog beach, no elliptical workout.  If ever there was a reason to be Joey-ish and just go with the moment, this morning was it. I jumped in the kid's car, found my car, fed the meter and then picked up my ex-husband who had a spare key.  I was all ready to be a real sourpuss.

But this is what happened.  Joey was adorable - every day he greets the day as if it is the first and last of his life, full of joy.  That, in and of itself, is infectious.  Then the beautiful day with the lovely lighting that dared me to be a grouch and eschew its beauty.  When I got to my car and realized I had no quarters to feed the meter, I noticed happy people coming out of Panera and I said to myself, "Well, I'm a Starbucks girl, but what the hell, let's try Panera coffee and solve two problems - coffee and quarters!"  Good to mix things up anyway!.   And then I realized I wanted to check out Panera anyway because just last night we talked about creating a splinter group off of our regular writing group.   The group has gotten too big and it is no longer as fun as it used to be.  Time for a change.   So this morning as I solved my quarter problem, I also talked to the manager at Panera and secured their back room for a new writing group that will meet twice a month. An accomplishment out of adversity!

And then a rare opportunity to talk with my soon to be ex-husband when we drove to the car with the spare key.  He is a lovely person and we haven't been communicating lately as we try to hammer out an equitable divorce - lots of unhappy feelings.  Today, we chatted about nothing much, the dog, his cat, the writing group and the new initiative.   It was really nice to relax with him and have it not be loaded.  Finally as I left for the office, I met new neighbors across the street, the mother Diana and her two adorable (5 and 2?) little girls Athena and Ariana.  Athena is precocious and brilliant. She told me she hated telling people she is Greek because Greek people hug and kiss too much and she has a problem with that.   I told her it could be worse - she could have relatives who don't like her much and never hug and kiss her.   She furrowed her brow and gave that some deep thought.  Why do I think she will have a philosophical retort for me next we meet?

So these day I'm all about self help books - me who usually makes fun of self help books.  Last night I picked up a book that I'm eager to read called The Happiness Project (Or, Why I spent a Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun).   I'm already hooked and I've only read the first few pages.   The words that jumped off the page and grabbed me was a quote from the writer Collette, "What a wonderful life I've had!  I only wish I'd realized it sooner!"

So, I'm walking the walk these days and I'm proud of myself.   These are the things I need to remind myself that I'm succeeding at:

• my health - it's really good.  I'm finally getting a good relationship with my body.  I treat it well and it's treating me well in return.  So many people punish their bodies out of self loathing, laziness, ignorance.  If you think of your body as a precious child or dog who needs consistent loving care, you think twice before traumatizing it with punishing regimes, starvation diets, binging/purging, substance abuse, lack of or too much exercise, neglect, not enough sleep, etc.  Your body will only purr for you if you treat it with gentle respect.  It's easily traumatized.
• my attitude - there are a lot of changes brewing in my life, not all of them good.  I continue to put one foot in front of the other and stay in the game - just showing up is 9/10's of success.  I am also working really hard to put this breakup behind me.   It's probably one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my life (maybe the hardest).  My body, heart and soul long for him - still - and it's a mind over matter thing to give him up.  I'd say I'm about 50% there.
• my creativity - this is, I'm, convinced the key to happiness.  Mixing things up, finding novelty in the day, meeting new people, being stimulated, shedding things and people that no longer provide joy, learning new things, creating.   Writing this daily blog has been my anti-depressant, even when I'm pissy.

So, we're going into Fall.  My friend Liza said she hates the end of August.  Everything starts to look worn and old.  I looked at my backyard that was, just a month ago, a profusion of flowers in their prime.  Clematis so beautiful they looked otherworldly, majestic Asiatic lilies each perfect, flower boxes looking ready for a Martha Stuart photo shoot, tomato plants with green plump foliage.  Now the lilies are gone and the tall stems that are left are wizened and brown, the lawn is blighted probably from being over mowed, the clematis flowers are gone, the tomato plants never did produce much - the foliage looks gnawed and the flower boxes are leggy.   I see what Liza means - everything is looking spent.  

And you see where I'm going with this, I'll bet.  We come to this same stage of our lives when our children who were once absolutely perfect with ten toes and fingers are done with childhood and are entering the scary world of adults with the battle scars of childhood, some of which we have inflicted on them - they are not perfect anymore.  Our houses that once bulged with optimism are filled with stuff that no one cares about anymore and they too bear family scars - worn and weary.  We parents are feeling PTSD, having barely survived being parents and wondering if there is any reserve left in us, for us.   It's all - the end of August.

And then Liza says September/October is good again.  Beauty returns.  A crispness in the air is invigorating. Summer clothing is put away and cool weather clothing makes a debut.   The lethargy of summer is shaken off and all is busy again - yard cleanup, winter readiness, holiday preparations. Energy and excitement and last gasp beauty that is so breathtaking it can make you weep. Someone told me that when a tree's leaves change color, the tree is in pain.  It's like the tree has a fever.  It is shrieking, "Help me, see me!"   Fall is like that, beautiful with desperate frenetic activity in anticipation of the death of winter.

In June when Patrick and I broke up I anticipated I wouldn't be ready to date again until the frost and then I clarified it further, "the killing frost".  Ryan told me recently that for a relationship with such a fast arc as we had, the rule of thumb was twice as long for the breakup as the relationship.  We were together for only two months (that to us felt like 20 years) so that means the heartache will last for four months.  October 13th.  Wouldn't it be crazy if my prediction came true and that was the date of the killing frost?  If it is, I will note it with amazement and celebrate that night.  I will do something symbolic like remove all his voice mails from my phone, or remove his pictures.  It's a lovely thought to think I will, at some point, be free of the pain of losing him. Please wish that for me.

The challenge today is to think about Collette's words, "What a wonderful life I've had!  I only wish I'd realized it sooner!"  Maybe we print up a dozen copies of this quote and tape them everywhere so that we see them upon waking and periodically throughout the day, and last thing before we go to sleep. Please don't waste even a single day, numbed out to your wonderful life.  Even the shitty days are part of your wonderful life.

Peace,

Sarah

Younger Next Year/Vibram Five Fingers

So much to do - so little time.  I'm not alone, right?  Fitting everything into a day feels all but impossible most days. And I've got some grim determination brewing about now - things I'm determined to accomplish.   The big one is losing another 50 pounds. I've been saying "I've got to lose my last 50 pounds," and then I realize, who says that?  When did something like a 50 pound weight loss get thrown out there as a trivial, clean-up chore?  And yet I've lost 125 pounds, so 50 feels like it should be a breeze.  I obviously know how to lose weight - the old fashioned way, diet and exercise.  This morning I rose a half hour earlier and added to my day 1/2 hour on the elliptical trainer.  I've decided to start my day by rolling out of bed, putting on exercise clothes, getting Joey out of his crate and making him watch me exercise for 1/2 hour before our morning time at the beach.

So, 1 1/2 hours of exercise in the morning and then at least three classes at the health club during the week (Pilates, weights, and dynamic movement) should really make it possible to meet my fitness and weight loss goals. Grim determination.  There are two reasons this is imperative.  Most important, the book Younger Next Year (did you order it?).   If we look back to the early days of man, there was a rhythm to the year and the body adjusted accordingly.   In the spring and summer humans ate lots of fresh produce and expended a lot of energy, walking miles a day in search of prey, sprinting when they spotted a meal - during those times the body put on lots of muscle and grew strong.   Then in the fall, with winter coming, metabolism slowed and humans ate foods that would layer on the fat to get them through the winter.  Spring and Summer were for growth and vitality.  Fall and Winter were times of muscle atrophy (decay) and calorie conservation.
Modern man has it all wrong.  We give ourselves a fall/winter message year round - a decay message while we pack on the calories.  Your body is either growing and putting on muscle or it is in decay.   And age is really not as important as one would think - by giving yourself a year-round spring message, you can live young up to the very end.  

This is what I am doing to give my body a springtime message:

• cardio 1/2 hour/day and I'll work up to a full hour - that includes some minutes going full tilt like I'm sprinting on the Serengeti in pursuit of my dinner
• eating for health - simple, unprocessed foods, not too much 
• taking care of my teeth - bad oral health can cause inflammation and heart disease
• weight lifting which is important for bones and also balance
• taking care of my beauty - I want to look like a spring chicken as well as feel like one!
• spending time outdoors
• taking supplements (Vitamin D, calcium, Q-10, Vitamin C, fish oil, complex B and Iron)
• getting deep restful sleep - not too much, not too little
• quick naps to recharge myself

I'm determined to be fit and beautiful by this time next year or before.  I am a good looking woman but our culture is thin obsessed and if I'm going to date, I don't want to eliminate possibilities because of the extra pounds.  I'm not going to settle for someone who is not taking care of himself and I don't expect him to settle either.   Body beautiful is something that has eluded me but really it is SO do-able with discipline.  Once the weight is off I'll take a trip to Thailand for a surgery vacation and have everything nipped and tucked.  My goal is to enjoy how I look in a bathing suit.  

And face it, in this culture, no one wants the fat girl.  I have been teased and tormented my entire life about my weight and it's time to put that behind me. Fuck you world for caring so much about washboard abs and perky boobs.  It shouldn't be a showstopper but it is - men are primitive creatures, all about aesthetics at the expense of substance.  Kaveh would say I'm generalizing again and lumping all men into a hateful category, but really girls, aren't I right?  They may say they want intelligence and talent but at the end of the day, they're all about youth and beauty...period.  It sucks.

Well, this is a shallow, slightly bitter post today!  I have no deep thoughts today.  Just grim determination for a better life through discipline.   I don't anticipate being happy for a good long time so in the interim I'll be athletic and obsessed with thinness and beauty, like everyone else.

The challenge today is to think about turning up the heat on your health and fitness so that you can live the last half or third of your life as the best time of your life.  If you don't exercise daily, why not?  And don't tell me it's a time thing...I know you watch TV.

Sarah=obnoxious today.  Sorry.   I'm still so very sad - it's hard to be upbeat all the time.

Peace,

Sarah

PS.  Picture is of my Vibram Five Finger shoes.   I wear them all the time these days and for the first time in my life I can walk for miles with no pain.   I not only have no foot pain, but my whole skeleton feels better.  They're frigging amazing and they're catching on.   Lately a lot of people have come up to me and asked if I like them because they've been considering getting a pair.

Disappointment/Words of Inspiration from Joey

Big storm coming in -an hour ago it was in Rockford so I think I made it to the office just in time.   And funny how things work out sometimes and how sometimes they don't.  Last night I made Elizabeth promise to find the bug spray she had "liberated" from the house when she recently went camping.   It makes me crazy to go to use something and have it missing.  And the black flies at the beach yesterday were ruthless so both Joey and I needed spraying down with massive doses of deet.   But predictably (and sadly it is predictable that when I ask my kids for something they rarely follow through) this morning the bug spray had not been produced, so I had a piss fit and told Elizabeth there would be no dog beach for Joey today - a comment calculated to make her feel guilty. As it turns out, I didn't realize a massive storm was coming that we would have been stuck in, so yeah funny how sometimes things work out when you think they're falling apart.

So this is how Joey deals with disappointment.   He was all geared up for his usual, beloved morning routine.  Out of the crate, leash clipped on and right out of the house, leap into the backseat of the car and away we go.  Quick stop at Starbucks for a latte where he anxiously watches for me to return, and then to the lake.  We walk for a half hour, then another half hour at the beach, and another half hour walk back to the car.  Every day - our new morning routine - predictable and wonderful.   So this morning, after the "incident", I sat out on the deck and sulked and tried to coral my venomous feelings.   Joey, on the other hand, settled down happily with a bone and gnawed contentedly at my feet.  He wasted not a moment or an emotion being disappointed - he was so in the moment.  No dredging up resentments of the past to bolster current angry feelings.  No projecting what a shitty day it was sure to be, having gotten off to such a bad start.  He was so present - and happy.

I don't deal with disappointment well - does anyone?  Are there any Joey-ish people out there? When people disappoint me I tend to build a case against them - they're on trial.   And if the wound isn't healed, it festers and soon the damage is irreparable and we each go our separate ways.  Inevitably, memory of the transgression fades and all that's left is a hole - a missing the other, and wondering what went wrong and what should or could have been done differently. My aunt Jeanne is in town, from Portland to help my mother with her move to Boston.  I am out of the loop on all these activities, being mostly estranged from her.  Friends and other relatives are rallying around my mother and helping her with this transition.  When I saw her last her parting words were something like, "Don't be a stranger".  How did this happen?  Is it my fault?  It's probably my fault.  I don't know how to fix this.  I'm not even sure I want to fix this.  So confused - definitely a big disappointment - that relationship.

And my grown-up-living-at-home girls - will we end up the same way?  Will the little annoyances become insurmountable impasses?   What do normal mothers do when they ask a kid for something (like returning the bug spray) and the kid doesn't make good?  What does a patient mother do when she explains the fruit fly problem to them and asks for no food or drink to be brought to their bedrooms and then only days later sees empty dishes there?  I told them if I saw dishes upstairs, I would be forced to dock them the use of the car for a day - it's about the only leverage I have.  So, do I turn up the heat and put a locking burglar bar on the steering wheel on the days I find dishes? Why do I think that raising the ante like this can only end badly - that I will win the battle and lose the war?  So, what does a good mother do in a situation like this - just stop threatening, have low expectations, be grateful for crumbs of respect and sigh a lot?   Shit.

There has to be a solution where adversity between people can be used for growth - for furthering and strengthening the relationship.  What I DO know is that when people cling to their positions and retreat to opposite sides of a boxing ring, everyone loses.  And the loss is tragic because at the end of the day we DO need each other.  We DO need our mothers.  We DO need our children. These important relationships are not as sturdy as poets would write.  I actually think the more important the relationship, the more fragile it is - there is so much at stake.  Every spat has the potential to turn into tragedy.  Different than having an altercation with someone less important to you. With those relationships, there is less to lose so you can be calmer, more magnanimous, you can take risks and try new ways of communicating, you can even walk away when it's appropriate without feeling like the world is ending.  It would seem that when the stakes are lower and we are less invested, communication is easier.  With loved ones, every word and every glance is loaded, evaluated, interpreted - often with a sad result.

I am still very sad these days, but the difference is, I know I'm going to be OK.  Having fun last weekend showed me I am still capable of laughter.  For large swaths of the weekend I didn't dwell on Patrick and that was a relief.   Yesterday he and I communicated.  A final action item between us is that he was going to write me a final keepsake letter and he hadn't yet.   That letter is forthcoming and I will, I'm sure, read it and treasure it and safe-keep it.  I fear he was the love of my life and that I will never again experience such joy with another.  Joey would tell me to let that worry go and to find a bone to gnaw on and just find happiness in the moment.

So, the challenge today is thinking about how we react when people disappoint us.  Do we script them out of our lives (off with their heads!),  do we let the hurt scab over and become an unhealed wound that eventually kills the relationship when added to previous scars, or is there a way to turn conflict into something positive - an opportunity for conversation, an opportunity for deepening the relationship, to get closer?   Boy I sure talk pretty sometimes, don't I?   I'm afraid I don't walk the walk on this one.   This is tough.

Peace,
Sarah

Picture is of my watering can collection.

Road Warriors/Write a Back Story

Ah....Monday's are always sure to come around.  Let's buckle down and get some work done, yes? This morning Joey and I were chased off the dog beach by swarms of biting black flies, they were crazy making.   He and I were both miserable so we hightailed it back to the house and enjoyed a lazy time on the deck, I drank coffee and he munched a bone.

I actually had a good weekend!  That's HUGE!  The heaviness in my heart is lifting and not a moment too soon.  Between the silly time at Schaller's Pump on Friday, the party at the Bloom School of Jazz on Saturday, and yesterday, sleeping in and then dinner on my deck with dear friends Steve and Helen, it was a happy three days. I am proud of myself for having a fighting spirit and choosing happiness over despair.  I will always, from this experience, be compassionate about people who are crippled with despair...it's a desperate place to be. And once you descend there, it is like being in a dark, dank well with slippery sides.   Easy to say, "snap out of it!" but the reality is, there is no snapping.  It's like you have been buried alive with stones crushing your chest.  My friends came to my rescue - they didn't let the stones crush me.   They couldn't remove them all, but they were able to lift enough of them so I could survive long enough to find my own will.  And when that will was restored, I forced myself erect - the rest of the stones are falling away.

So last night, Steve, Helen and I talked about everything under the sun.  We sat out on the twinkly deck for hours and caught up. I loved hearing about the international projects they worked on this year - especially the one they did in Iraq where they had to implement software that would be used by the nascent government to manage legislative initiatives.  Steve travels the world over as a "have gun will travel" networking consultant.   He is hired because he has a unique ability to deliver and execute, despite the challenges of working with people of other cultures, many of whom are accustomed to stuff not getting done.   He embodies the American "can-do" spirit.   I told Steve I'm at a point in my life where I would like to have some adventure.   My kids are grown, my business pretty much runs itself these days, I'm not in a relationship, and I am looking for my next raison d'etre.  He and Helen both think my skills would translate well to international project management.   I think I have the right combination of fearlessness, focus and charm to be effective.  So we'll see where this goes!  I will throw my hat into the ring and see if I can get a gig.  My kids will laugh at the idea of me being a road warrior - this is the woman who travels with her own down pillow!

So to look at Steve, Helen and even me, a casual observer would never guess what power houses we are.  Helen looks like a Mary Englebreit sweet older lady whose only passion is pruning roses.   Steve looks like your average guy who could be found at a bar watching the ballgame, eating pretzels.  I look like a pleasant middle aged woman who wouldn't hurt a fly.   And yet, we three could be a swat team.  We would be so unlikely no one would see us coming.   When Helen was in Iraq, the Iraqis and the American project manager thought they could marginalize her - they had no idea who they were messing with.   She showed them up, time after time, producing and executing in a way that humbled them.   Steve always gets his man - he  immerses himself in the local culture, immediately knows who the real power brokers are, and then aligns himself properly to get the resources he needs to execute.  And you all know I am not a woman to be trifled with - as Patrick would say, "I will be as nice as you let me".  I am fair and kind, but when I need to, I have ice in my veins - my motto, "do whatever it takes to get the job done as long as you don't break too many laws".

That got me to thinking about how people pigeon-hole each other.  I'm as guilty as the next person. When I meet someone new, I look at their appearance and make instant judgments based on nothing, really. What a waste that is - think of all the interesting people I may have missed getting to know because I decided they were not worth talking to - too old, too unattractive, too something. I've decided to challenge my assumptions.  I'm also going to exercise some creative muscle.  Now when I pass people on my walks, I am going to "write" them an interesting back story.   The old man who walks slowly, looking at his feet, used to be the president of Morgan Stanley. He was also an ambassador under the first Bush administration to Argentina where he learned to tango.  He met his third wife there, she was the daughter of a general and an internationally acclaimed dancer.  She killed herself by drinking anti freeze when their late-in-life child died of SIDS or was suffocated by the nanny (there were suspicions).  He now lives with his daughter in Evanston and is writing his memoirs. You get the idea....I could have a lot of fun with this and my guess is the real stories people have to tell are even more interesting than what I could concoct!

So today, challenge your assumptions and look at the people around you with fresh and curious eyes.   Try and imagine what they do or did for work, what hidden talents they may have, what qualities they have that they are loved for, and if you can figure out a way to strike up a conversation, try and discover the thing that makes them tick.   My friend Carol is so adept at this.  I joke she collects people - she has a human menagerie of friends and acquaintances.   I think she finds the rest of us clueless when it comes to socializing and networking.   If you meet Carol, she will look at you with undivided interest and within minutes she will know more about you than I do, even though I may have known you for years.  She REALLY listens and then asks just the right questions to discover even more.  Once you have been "indexed", she mentally cross checks you against every other person she has ever met and soon you will be receiving e-mails or calls from her with introductions to other like minded people, books that seem to have been written just for you, ideas of places to go and things to see, etc.   We, her friends,  joke that she is our "concierge of life".  Carol would NEVER look at someone and make snap judgments - everyone is interesting to her, everyone has a story worth knowing.

The above picture is Liza and Pam wearing their new dinner roll "snackware" fine jewelry line.   I'm sure you can commission a piece from them if you're willing to pay.

Peace,
Sarah

Pizzas and Parenthood

What a beautiful day it is today!   Joey and I just got back from two hours at the dog beach - heaven for both of us.  I sat solitaire again today with my own thoughts - happier thoughts today.   I made a sand castle with my empty Starbucks cup that the dogs quickly knocked down.  And I wrote in the sand with the little green stopper that keeps the foam from escaping the coffee cup - the word "Hope" over and over in different scripts. I got an idea for a book plot where a suicidal man watches a woman writing in the sand and is overcome with curiosity.  He makes a deal with himself not to commit suicide if,  what she wrote, has meaning.   She leaves the beach and he walks to where she was sitting on the sand and sees the word, "Hope".  He decides to live - it is a turning point for him, this single word of inspiration.  He is convinced she sensed his pain -that her message was meant specifically for him to discover in the sand.   He considers it a gift from God - her, his guardian angel. The next week they introduce themselves as their dogs play.   She says, "Hi, my name is Hope." He is crushed.

I didn't cry yesterday for the first time in 68 days. Progress.  And I had a great time last night at the Bloom School of Jazz - it was a really fun party - thank you David Bloom for hosting it!  I spent the majority of my time in the amazing industrial kitchen turning out pizza after pizza:  pear, gorgonzola and walnut; Greek with feta, mint, sundried tomatoe and kalamata olives; Sicilian with Italian sausage, peppers, arugula and roasted garlic, steak pizza with carmelized onions and shitaki mushrooms, Southwest pizza with black beans, fresh salsa and cilantro, barbecue chicken pizza with red onion, smoked gouda and cilantro, artichoke pizza with lemon artichoke pesto, Asian pizza with asparagus, water chestnuts, chicken and teriaki glaze, Hawaiian pizza with pineapple, ham and bacon, and so many more - twelve in all!   I love hard work like that with something creative to show for it.

Today housekeeping and then dinner guests - we will sit out on my twinkly deck and talk about my friend Steve's international travel.   He is a hired gun network guy who spends 3/4 of the year in places like Thailand, Iraq, Mongolia, Vietnam, Columbia, etc.  He always has amazing stories.   One time when I had a large dinner party, I asked the guests to bring an object of special significance and discreetly put it into a bowl in the middle of the dining room table.   At dinner we all examined the objects and tried to match them to their owners.   Finally, the owners were revealed and they explained the significance of their object.   Steve brought a large smooth oval rock and explained that, when he was in Mongolia, he had been invited to dine with locals he just met.   They sewed fire-hot stones into a goat's stomach to cook it from the inside out - he saved one of the stones as a souvenir.

Steve and Helen don't have children....which is something I've been giving a lot of thought to these days.   James and I recently had a conversation about the biological imperative of having kids and whether having children really brings joy.   He also has no children, so his perspective is colored by a desire to experience fatherhood.  This is my position these days that may or may not resonate with you.   It could be that I've hit on a universal truth or more likely my feelings about motherhood don't represent the norm.  And I want to be careful here and not sound bitter because really I'm just feeling philosophical.

I think there is joy and unhappiness with either choice and it's definitely one of those, "the grass is always greener..." things.  We are programmed as mammals to propagate the species so the pull to bear offspring comes from deep inside of us - a possession of sorts that we don't understand, that can't be denied.   It is a primitive need that defies rational thinking.   And for childless people there must be a sense of incompleteness without having fulfilled that biological need to replicate....a gnawing feeling.  But, the flip side is that children are born, you fall in love with them, they adore you for a time, you invest everything in them - your time, your resources, your focus, your worry,  they grow, they hate you for time, then they leave and they don't really look back much.   It's their job.   And what I'm experiencing is that it's not a two way street.  The parent/child relationship is pretty much all about the kid and it will probably always be that way until the time when you become their responsibility and they have to decide what to do with your decaying self.  If you think the relationship with your kids will mature so that you will be peers, equally invested in each other, equally interested in each other, mutually supportive, think again.   You  witness your kids take their place in the world, show consideration for friends and strangers, express themselves thoughtfully to others, open up and reveal themselves to those they choose as intimates - you will see and be grateful for all of this. But don't be fooled for one minute that they will ever give you, their parent, their best.  We are too angry with our parents to ever see them as people - they never measure up in our eyes and, because we can't get past the hurt of the past, we can't really enjoy them much....we keep them at arm's length and punish them for their mistakes.   You can't enjoy someone when you have rage deep in your gut - you can never fully relax with someone who has been the source of misery.   And I think, it is all too common, that the parent/child relationship is one of misery, no matter how much you love each other.

It's a human paradox - the misery of being childless and the misery of having children - and a certainty that if you were the other, you would be happy.   I'm not so sure, if I had it all to to again, I would have had children.  But I am sure that, if I had elected to be childless, I would be writing, "I'm not so sure, if I had it all to do again,  I would have decided NOT to have children."  Damned if you do and damned if you don't!  Damn!

I guess the challenge today should be thinking about parenthood.   If you are a parent, what do you hope to get from your kids (whether you will ever get it or not - maybe having high expectations will set the bar higher for the relationship), and if you are not a parent, think about removing the rosy glasses and realizing it is not a guarantee of happiness to bear children - there really are pros and cons to both choices.  The second part of the challenge is to translate how we hope our children will treat us into how we treat our own parents.   Can we finally stop acting like children and leave our childhood expecations and hurts in the past?   Can we approach the relationship with our parents the same way as we do with dear friends - open, trusting, interested, with humor?   Can we try and see our parents as people who don't owe us anything anymore - their job is done - and spend time with them because we have history, blood ties and affection?   I would like there to come a time when my kids can sit down with me at a table and we can share equally - that we give each other space to "be" with each other, find each other interesting and treat each other as we would dear friends.  But first I guess I need to finish growing up see if it's possible to do that with my own mother.   Tough.

Peace,
Sarah

PS.   Picture is of my beautiful deck that twinkles at night, where amazing meals are served and even more amazing conversations happen.

Regret and Fear/Twin Thieves

There is a little picture book by Robert J. Hastings called The Station.   It is a bit precious and saccharine, but there are some phrases worth framing and reading every day in this little gem.  I hope you like it as much as I do.

Tucked away  in our subconscious minds is an idyllic vision in which we see ourselves on a long journey that spans an entire continent. We're traveling by train and, from the windows, we drink in the passing scenes of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at crossings, of cattle grazing in distant pastures, of smoke pouring from power plants, of row upon row upon row of cotton and corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of city skylines and village halls.     But uppermost in our conscious minds is our final destination--for at a certain hour and on a given day, our train will finally pull into the station with bells ringing, flags waving, and bands playing. And once that day comes, so many wonderful dreams will come true. So restlessly, we pace the aisles and count the miles, peering ahead, waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.     "Yes, when we reach the station, that will be it!" we promise ourselves. "When we're eighteen. . . win that promotion. . . put the last kid through college. . . buy that 450SL Mercedes-Benz. . . have a nest egg for retirement!"     From that day on we will all live happily ever after.     Sooner or later, however, we must realize there is no station in this life, no one earthly place to arrive at once and for all. The journey is the joy. The station is an illusion--it constantly outdistances us. Yesterday's a memory, tomorrow's a dream. Yesterday belongs to a history, tomorrow belongs to God. Yesterday's a fading sunset, tomorrow's a faint sunrise. Only today is there light enough to love and live.     So, gently close the door on yesterday and throw the key away. It isn't the burdens of today that drive men mad, but rather regret over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow. Regret and fear are twin thieves who would rob us of today.     "Relish the moment" is a good motto, especially when coupled with Psalm 118:24, "This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it."      So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, swim more rivers, climb more mountains, kiss more babies, count more stars. Laugh more and cry less. Go barefoot oftener. Eat more ice cream. Ride more merry-go-rounds. Watch more sunsets. Life must be lived as wego along. The station will come soon enough. ***********************************************************************************' So today is an unremarkable day but that's OK....not every day has to be in technicolor.   This morning all was cleansed by a quick and amazing storm.   I was at the grocery store and as I left, other patrons were waiting out the rain, not wanting to be drenched. I decided it would be fun to be soaked by a summer storm so I embraced the wetness and went out into the deluge.   And I remember being a child and enjoying a rainy walk home from school.   I would take my shoes off and walk in the gutters where the water rushed...it was thrilling.  I'm recovering from a very sad breakup with a man I still adore and who loves me too.   It's tragic we can't be together...I think the angels weep a little for us.   It was so right in so many ways.   But, I can't stay sad forever...it's not a life worth living.   And so I am REALLY trying most days to inhabit the day, to push the sad thoughts away when they come, to fill my time with positive, interesting friends and things to do.  Last night Shaller's, the bar on the south side.   It was fun last night...we were a group of about ten and we were ridiculously silly.   Pam invented a new line of jewelry from dinner rolls that Liza dubbed, snackware". We three wore dinner rolls as fine jewelry: Pam and Liza had snackware necklaces and I had a snackware bracelet and ring.   And we all sang great.   There was an attractive man who appeared to have a crush on me but I'm not ready for that and I said to Liza's dismay, "unless his first name begins with P, and his last with K, I'm not interested".  Tonight I will "shock and awe" the Bloom School of Jazz with my homemade pizzas.  Big party there and I'll make about twelve of them.  Today I decided not to cry over this relationship any more and so far I haven't cried today.   Last night Pam sang a song (Through the Eyes of Love) that she last sang at my party as I listened in Patrick's arms. I knew even then that the relationship would probably end badly which was why, even in my bliss, I wept when I heard it. And now, I can't hear it without totally breaking down....last night at Schaller's I covered my face and sobbed, body heaving sobs...and the other day, I smelled a shirt of his, expecting a whiff of memory and sadness. I was floored by the memory of his smell and I totally broke down, crying and gulping for air. These actions, listening to a triggering song, smelling an article of clothing, sitting on the beach thinking of him - are ill-advised. Indulging myself like this binds me to the past and to him.  I could become addicted to the sadness, it could be my new forever way of being. And crying? - it is voluntary. No one is making me cry. I can choose not to cry. The challenge today is to gently close the door on yesterday and throw away the key. If there is sadness you are clinging to like an old friend, say good-bye to it. Don't rob yourself of today even if it is a rainy unremarkable day.  Be present. Peace, Sarah

Invisibility/Cook With What You've Got

To blog or not to blog - that is the question.  This morning I all but decided to shut this site down.   I was disgusted with my pissy post of yeterday.   I felt, too, that I wasn't do a good job walking a careful line about disclosing personal things. This blogging thing is tricky.  If I don't share myself, then I don't think it will be compelling - it will just be a preachy, pompous self help site.   I will come off as a know-it-all who supposedly has all the answers versus what I really am, a person in an existential crisis who is questioning everything and who is willing to share her joys and sorrows with you, in the hope that it may be useful to your own path.  But what belongs in a private journal and what's OK to share on a blog?  

It was so timely, then, to receive this message from my friend Norma on an e-mail this morning. She writes, "I have to tell you that I am loving your blog!!  It's like therapy, but without the high price tag:)  I see myself in every single post...now I have to read them over and over until I start doing something about those issues!...keep blogging you are doing a great service to (I'm guessing) a lot of people - me, for one!"   So thanks to Norma, I won't throw in the towel here - I will just work at this until I hit a stride where the blog is comfortable for "both" of us - it's the right length, not too erudite, personal but not too, strives for a universal message, is entertaining, makes us think.   And please don't be shy about posting....it's hard to put yourself "out there" and receive little feedback.   I'd like this to be a two way street.

I'm going through a really tough spell right now....my bravery is faltering.   This morning at the beach, I didn't socialize with the other dog parents but sat by myself on the sand and looked out to "sea".   I sobbed behind my sunglasses - it seems I still have a lot more tears to shed.  The waves were rolling and gentle this morning, predictably rolling in and breaking, one after the other after the other - comforting.  And yet the tears kept coming and coming. Joey was worried.  His normal mode at the beach is to jump for joy (all four legs leave the ground) and race up and down the shore, darting this way and that, nipping, being nipped, body slamming other dogs and an occasional unlucky owner, leaping through the surf and then doing it all over again.   Today, he eschewed all of this and sat quietly next to me...as if to say, "if my presence can give you any comfort, I offer it".   He is just a dog and a puppy at that....where did this wisdom and devotion come from?  I don't know, but I am so grateful for it....grateful for him.

I was wise to get him.  He needed saving, but so did I.   These days I'm feeling more and more invisible, like an old photograph that's losing color.  My rock star consulting gig is over and my phone doesn't ring because clients got used to my unavailability while I worked that frenetic project.  My life is being downsized which is a good and necessary thing, but there is also sadness to be contracting rather than expanding.  My relationship with my children is troubling.  Wednesday I had lunch with my two eldest daughters and their grandmother (Steve's stepmother).  They chatted animatedly between themselves, catching up on each others' news and not once did they ask me anything about my life.  When I interjected, they shut me down - as if the interests of a 55 year old woman were un-newsworthy as seen through their the-world-is-my-oyster-because-I'm-young eyes. They marginalized me.  And of course there is the loss of Patrick which is unspeakably difficult.  He is in the process of trading me in for someone younger who will bear him children.

So I got thinking about the turn my mind had taken in the past few days and my pissed off post of yesterday.   I'm disappointed with a lot of people these days and from disappointment comes anger, hurt, resentment and hopelessness.   These are the ingredients I'm working with.   Liza says I should go on one of those cooking shows where amateur cooks are given some strange ingredients and they have to concoct something beautiful and delicious.   She says with my cooking skill I would be a sure winner of the $250K prize.  The idea of making something delectable from strange ingredient combinations like a turnip, caramel, french fried onion rings, and rhubarb is intriguing - working with what you've got.   Much easier, yes, if it were truffles, eggs, shallots and quince?

By the time you are my age, your life is full of "strange ingredients" - layers of history with loved ones, losses that have left poorly healed scars, sad compromises, imperfect relationships, bodies that are moth eaten, but good stuff too...wisdom, humility, acceptance, pride in accomplishments, good memories.   It's a mish mosh and mostly nothing is new and fresh - mostly everything has a story, history, bruises - shabby chic.

The challenge today is to look realistically at the ingredients of your life and figure out how you can make something delectable out of what you have.   You don't get to trade in your day old vegetables and bread for fresh and unsullied ingredients!   You don't get to drive to Texas, assume a pseudonym and work in a diner and have a new beginning (something I threatened a few posts back).  You don't get to trash your troubled relationships and start fresh with new children and friends who might like you better and who won't marginalize you. The challenge is, you have to make do with what you have and incorporate these ingredients into something worth living for.  You can shop for supplemental ingredients (like a puppy) that will hopefully provide some cohesiveness and help bind the mish mosh together, but you can't throw your basic ingredients away.

I realize now I can't make anything beautiful and delicious out of anger, hurt, resentment and hopelessness.  I can, though, make something worthy out of love, hope, forgiveness, acceptance and hard work - and the people who currently inhabit my life.  I can make something spectacular like the croquembouche (a tower of cream puffs) I made for Christmas one year that enchanted my family (see the picture).

Peace,
Sarah