crazy, stupid, mindfulness
25 Apr 2012 5 Comments
in innerwisdom, life, mindfulness
Yesterday I had one of those days.
You know, one of those days where no matter what you do, nothing goes your way? Yup, that was my Tuesday.
I had a pinched nerve in my neck. I woke up an hour late. I rushed to work, arriving late, only to walk into a big, ugly girl-fight as I came off of the elevator. Decided that my pinched-nerve-self needed to break up the fight, which then left me all shaky and freaked out. I got my haircut and couldn’t pay because in all of my rushing, I grabbed the wrong bag and forgot my wallet.
Stupid day.
Nothing horrible. Just stupid.
A stupid day every once in a blue moon is good for me. It brings me back to the moment. It makes me remember that all of my busy, crazy, rushing, overworking, nuttiness is just that: busy and crazy and nutty. No matter how much I try to control things and put everything in its place, I’m still going to have a ridiculous day every now and then. There will always be things that just don’t go the way I want them to go.
And so?
I breathe. Deeply.
I slow down.
I call someone who will marvel at how tired I must have been to sleep through my alarm clock blaring for an hour. I call someone who will laugh at the image of me jumping into a fight and pulling some angry girls (and a 40 year old!) off of each other. I call someone who will tell me that it’s okay to take the battery out of my butt and just relax.
And then, once I’ve stopped? I see what has been in front of me all along.
This moment.
Pretty freaking amazing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“What day is it?” asked Pooh.
“It’s today,” squeaked Piglet.
“My favorite day,” said Pooh.”
- A. A. Milne
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roots and wings
25 Mar 2012 14 Comments
in gratitude, innerwisdom, life, milestones Tags: Hartford, Kalahari Desert, Roots
Staying put was never my thing.
There was a time when I moved every two years, at least. I itched for change. For the rush of starting something new, carving out space in an unknown corner. I traveled, I moved. I made friends, started to get settled, and than picked up and moved again. Sometimes I’d move back to my hometown for a bit and then take off again. I was in full on flying mode, wings ever at the ready; I knew I wasn’t ready to put down roots just yet.
And that made my life pretty interesting.
In 2004, I wound up on a road trip in the Kalahari Desert with a great friend, her mom, and her stepsister. Four women piled in a jeep, cruising through desolate southern Africa; it was really something. At the time, I was living in New York City, just finished grad school and had turned down counseling jobs in the Bronx and Shanghai. I had no idea what I was going to do when I got back to the U.S., so my desert adventure was a perfect detour. We spent our days spotting rare birds and springboks, goemsboks, and zebra, chatting with San Bushmen. At night, we’d crouch in shelters overlooking watering holes, hoping to spot a lion, drinking tea out of thermoses, whispering and giggling in the cold.
One night, I looked up at the amazing, huge, sky and marveled at the sight of it. Clear. Limitless. Not so unlike the sky I’d seen lying on my back in the front yard at home. I knew in that moment, that whatever I ended up choosing to do, wherever I ended up choosing to go next, it would be right; I could feel it in my gut.
And so weeks later when walking down Farmington Avenue, rocking my favorite pink “Glam is Back” t-shirt, I listened to that feeling in my stomach when the opportunity to move back home presented itself. Worlds away from the Kalahari, I conjured up that clarity and though it seemed crazy to be 29 and moving from the greatest city in the world back to Hartford, I heard what my heart was telling me.
Seven and a half years later, I am so grateful that I listened.
I wound up back in little old Hartford, whose sidewalks I know as well as my own palms. Whose homes cradle the people that I love. Whose streets inspire me, challenge me, remind me. I wound up wonderfully enmeshed in the lives of family and old friends, in the families of my friends; challenged by carving out a new space for myself in the place that I knew so well but that had changed as much as I had.
I wound up working in a school where I am happy to go each day. Where I have found so much joy and reward; where I have been part of building something exceptional. I wound up being one of the lucky people on this earth who get to make a bit of a difference each day; working in a place with people who have empowered me to grow in ways that I never could have imagined that day on Farmington Avenue when my phone rang.
At the time, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I felt like everything in my life was up in the air. I was mourning the end of a phase of my life and reveling in the beginning of another. I was scared. I was completely in flux.
Today? The flux continues.
And as it does, I go back to that quiet night under the stars; I conjure up the Kalahari clarity and remind myself that change is good; it’s not comfortable, but it is good. I give myself permission to reflect on all that for which I am grateful. I remind myself to trust the process, to trust my gut.
No matter what kind of noise is crowding my mind, my gut is always worth listening to. It has led me to some amazing people, some unlikely places and some experiences that made no sense to me until they were long over, but, my gut, it knows a thing or two.
This time, I don’t need to go to the desert to listen to myself. While my life may not be quite as exciting and interesting and story-worthy as it was back when I was rootless, footloose and fancy free, the flux feels powerful and exciting instead of scary.
And while I haven’t put away my wings entirely, my roots are here, at home; deep and strong and full of hope.
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the 40 year-old PICOUP
05 Mar 2012 21 Comments
in friends, gratitude, life, milestones Tags: birthday, brother, milestones, PICOUP
My brother turns 40 today.
They say 40 is the new 30. They must know my brother.
He is vibrant and funny and full of incredible ideas and always making something neat happen. He is full of energy and passion and magic and music and stories. His spirit is limitless. He is magnetic. Babies love him. Nuns adore him. Even middle school kids who hate everyone can’t help but love my brother; he’s got a pocketful of stupid-human tricks that throw them instantly into idol-worship mode. (I just felt like Rob Bass: I mean even the ones who never saw him like…)
Since we were little kids and he could stand on his head and wiggle his ears first, I’ve been in complete and total awe of him. That’s not to say there haven’t been moments when my awe was coupled with, “oh my god! get away from me!” There have been plenty of those over the years. The time he tried to vacuum me comes to mind. I mean, literally, he vacuumed me. That’s all fun and games until the nozzle comes towards your hair.
All brother/sister torture aside, being the younger sister is kind of a cool perch.
I’ve been witness to my brother’s journey from a seat of looking up to and learning. He did almost everything first. He tested the waters. In many cases, he didn’t just stick a toe in, he cannonballed right into the deep end. In some cases, he dove headfirst into the shallow end.
No matter what he was doing or where he was, through the darkness and back into the light, my brother has always been an incredibly influential force in my life. I can count on him. Deluxe. And even though we’re older and I’m taller than him, I still love when he calls me his little sister.
My brother’s road has been windy. And bumpy. But as he turns the corner into 40, his road is smooth, new pavement with all sorts of great scenery. He’s kicking some serious world-butt. He has a beautiful family. He’s written a book! He has carved out an incredible career and he has a diverse group of interesting friends who, just like me, are in awe of how funny and cool and smart and ridiculously creative he is.
Today I see him more clearly than I ever could when we were younger.
Today I see a guy who loves so deeply and with so much of himself. I see a guy whose mind is racing, whose ideas are powerful, whose potential is limitless. Today I see a guy who can find something magical in everyone; a guy who seeks that connection, to draw that out in each person he meets.
My brother’s mentor and friend, Mike Gessford passed away unexpectedly last year, just before his 50th birthday. Mike had a sign above his desk that read, “PICOUP: Person In Charge of Unlocking Potential.” Mike was that. And, my brother Justin, he is that: a person who makes it his mission to help others find the magic inside of themselves.
Happy Birthday, Bo. Thank you for being the ultimate PICOUP to me…
UBUNTU and I love you.
sweet judy
13 Feb 2012 22 Comments
in friends, gratitude, innerwisdom, life Tags: camp woodstock, grief, judy snyder, love
Today my friend Judy died.
She was a giver. A first-order, drop-everything, be there with a smile on her face, lend a hand, giver.
Judy was full of laughter. She was kind. She was funny. She was feisty. She wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. She spent her days at work helping people out and her time out of work helping people out. And it was never a strain; this was just who she was, a giver.
This completely unfair life left Judy with a brain tumor just weeks after she retired; she spent the remainder of her retirement fighting for her life until today when she passed on while surrounded by her beloved husband, children and others in their family.
When I think of Judy, she’s making a cheeky comment and cracking up. She’s finding the good in the most ordinary of moments.
So life isn’t fair. But it sure is full of amazing people.
I want to make sure that I make the most of every ordinary moment I have with the amazing people in my life.
Sometimes that’s doing something incredible together. Sometimes it’s a quick phone call or a check-in email. Sometimes it’s a full-on snugglefest complete with Thai food or movies or TV reruns of cop shows. Sometimes it’s a yoga date or a group at dinner or just sitting together in silence. Sometimes it’s boisterous laughter or planning a trip or taking a long walk at the reservoir. Sometimes it’s hijacking someone from their regular routine for a glass of wine on the couch while ignoring the kids or driving to Ikea or sitting together knitting. Sometimes it’s doing a whole lot of nothing but being happy with the people that I love.
Our time here is precious and it is not promised to us.
Life is better when you give. It’s better when you laugh. It’s better when you live it up and when you surround yourself with amazing people.
And most of all, life is better when you love with your whole heart.
Rock on, Judy. xoxo
bring on the hamster bubble!
10 Jan 2012 6 Comments
in life, mindfulness Tags: energy, focus your locus, mindfulness, stress
I want one of those hamster bubbles.
You know the kind you can stick a hamster in and then watch it run around furiously on it’s little tiny legs while the bubble rolls around the room?
I want one. (Except mine is invisible and I’m not trapped in it and everyone around me isn’t laughing at how ridiculous I look.)
I want an invisible forcefield between me and all of the negative energy swirling around out there in the universe.
Not germs, I can handle germs, but some shield between me and those folks that just can’t seem to find the good in anything. My hamster bubble would only be penetrated by good energy. All of that other stuff…the nastiness, the disappointments, the dissatisfaction that everyone is dealing with and projecting out on to others…none of that can get in. I will just roll around all day in positive-bubble-wonderland.
I get that sometimes people need to whine and complain and just generally kvetch about this and that to get things off their chests. I’m a counselor, after all, it’s my job to help people work through those moments. The world is crazy right now. Everywhere we turn there is tragedy, poverty, conflict, oppression. The weather is all sorts of strange and the economy is terrible; everyone is completely stressed out in all sorts of ways. Negativity is floating all around us, engulfing us; on the news, at work, on the road, in the world.
In this stressed-out, crazy world, it’s hard to find refuge from all of the rough-stuff and we end up taking it out on each other. We forget to say hello. We neglect to say thank you. We vent ad nauseum. We get caught up in all of the ugly stuff because sometimes it’s easier to see than the good.
I’m not throwing stones; while my glass is generally half-full, I have plenty of those nasty moments myself.
I get snarky and tired and hungry and hurt and disappointed and I take that out on other people. I hint that I need someone to give me the sympathetic face while I moan about my aching back or beg for someone to snuggle me quickly to remind me that things will look up soon. I vent and bitch and moan and need someone to give me advice on how to solve a problem that’s nagging at me. I often need a friend to give me a fierce “snap out of it!” when I’m really on a whiney bender.
We all have our moments when we’re stuck in the rut, even those of us positive, optimistic, lemonade-out-of-lemons folks that rock the rose-colored glasses. Life isn’t perfect and pretending that it is would be painful. I thank my lucky stars ten times a day for my family and friends and confidantes who indulge me with their time and their sympathy and their words of wisdom when I’m in the rut.
But at the end of the day, even when it’s been a really bad day, life is just easier when we can find the good in it.
And though it’s not perfect, in fact, it’s often incredibly hard, overall, life is pretty amazing. And if I allow myself to be consumed by all that is wrong, when I focus my energy on all that isn’t working, I fail to see all that is working, all that is good, all that I CAN do.
The positive energy can get sucked out of a space in the blink of an eye.
I can do that. I can suck the life out of a room when I’m in a bad mood.
We all can.
And, holy smokes, that’s a lot of power.
When I stop and think about the amount of people I interact with on a daily basis and remember that everyone I’m connecting with is getting some of my energy, for better or worse; that’s a lot of responsibility. And since the giant hamster bubble is probably not going to happen, I have to take care of my energy all on my own. I owe it to myself. I owe it to everyone that I interact with.
After all, in this crazy world, there are no invisible forcefields.
All we’ve really got is each other. How cool is that?!
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release of the resolutions
02 Jan 2012 20 Comments
in innerwisdom, life Tags: 2012, letting go, new year's eve, resolutions
I rang in 2012 with my family.
There was no wild party, no hats or noisemakers. There was a dance party, but it ended at 8:00 when the 6-year old and 4-year old went to bed. My night was mellow and just what I needed, my brother and his wife, my niece and myself snuggled up in blankets hanging out.
And, we played a silly game.
We ditched the game-board and went low-maintenance; I read cards full of seemingly random collections of words for everyone else to decipher, kind of like that short-lived game show, Bumper Stumpers where people decoded vanity license plates for loads of cash. We got super hung up on Run Hazel Wig Here. My brother, Justin, must have said those words 3,000 times, emphasizing different syllables, using different accents, different intonations, different paces until finally we solved the puzzle, tears streaming down our faces from laughing so hard.
Over and over in my head I could hear my brother’s voice saying those ridiculous words and then the word RESOLUTION popped into my head (it was New Year’s Eve after all). I could hear it all slow-mo-style like when we used to click records down to the 16 setting on Dad’s record player. My 6-year old niece had just proclaimed that she had three resolutions and I thought, whoah, if she’s got three and she’s only six… I should have 18.5 resolutions going into 2012. The pressure was on.
The truth is I’ve never been a fan of New Year’s resolutions.
Not just because it feels cliche to all of a sudden determine that I will lose weight, stop eating out, floss daily, vacuum more, not wait until my laundry bin has exploded in my closet to actually do the wash, work less, relax more, pay off my credit card, swear less or quit drinking coffee just because the calendar is turning from 12/31 to 1/1.
Resolutions make me feel like I’m ending the year focusing on something about myself that just isn’t good enough. Ugh, what a way to break up a good party snugglefest: deliberating over problems. These resolutions I’d been making seemed to be just that: RE-solutions…attempt after attempt after attempt to fix what was wrong with me. What a rotten way to start a new year.
Enough of that craziness! Resolutions are soooo 2011!
Last January a group of amazing people gathered in my home for a pot-luck dinner. I have the great fortune to have found a small extended family in a group of former students and we gather, along with a teacher/friend, each year over Winter break and Summer break to share time with each other. Last year we took a quiet moment in each other’s company to set an intention for ourselves for the upcoming year; something that we wanted to hope into our lives or into the lives of someone else. Some of us shared with the group, some of us kept our hopes in our own hearts.
My intention was two simple words: grounded growth.
In that moment, I was setting an intention to grow, to expand, to reach out from a place of strength and stability. It had nothing to do with starting a blog. In fact, it wasn’t until that slow-motion resolution word kept echoing in my ears, that moment when I resolved to let go of resolutions and focus, instead, on being at peace with myself and all of my imperfections, that I remembered that scrap of paper.
I wrote those words in a room full of friends. In a safe space amongst people with whom I feel beloved for sharing my quirky-random-imperfect self. I had no idea that those words would lead me to start this little adventure of writing and sharing and connecting! I ended 2011 feeling like I had accomplished something that I hadn’t even realized I had set out to do; full of hope and excitement and a feeling that I am enough just as I am.
It’s 2012. This year feels special.
It’s the year that many of the students from the group I mentioned before will graduate from college. I cannot begin to express how proud I am to bear witness to their growth. It is the year that my current group of kids at school will graduate from high school; I’m not quite sure what I will do without them when they move on! It is the year of my 20th high school reunion.
2012 is the year of all sorts of beginnings and endings and milestones and changes and wonderful moments and adventures and little fabulous gifts that have yet to reveal themselves.
This year starts not with problem-focused craziness, but with a quiet thought on all that I would like to bring more of into my life.
It’s going to be good. I can feel it.
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caught in my tin can
28 Dec 2011 23 Comments
in innerwisdom, life Tags: adele, fear, friends, integrity, life
I got caught singing in my car today.
I was in full-on concert mode; not pretending to be Adele, but pretending that her song was my song and I was on stage fully bringing it to my adoring audience. The crowd was vast, waving their iphones with the candle-app; I think I was even doing the closed-eye thing singers do when they are really feeling the groove.
Just as I hit the chorus, I got completely snagged. I was doing a little hand motion thing, fist clenched with passionate intensity, when I felt eyes on me. Not the eyes of my adoring imaginary audience, but real eyes from the car speeding up next to mine. My heart beat out of my chest. I had that horribly mortified feeling like I just stepped out of the shower and dropped my towel accidentally in front of a crowd.
As I was cruising along in my little tin can on the highway, I forgot, in that private moment, that I was, in fact, out in public.
We all do things we wouldn’t do if we knew someone else was watching. We all do things in front of some people that we might not do in front of others. In so many instances, we put away pieces of ourselves for others. We have our “at home” self and our “in public” self. We are careful about what we say. We rein ourselves in. As we were taught as kids, we demonstrate self-control. We diligently protect ourselves. We carefully protect others from ourselves.
I don’t mean to imply that not putting oneself completely out there is bad. The world would be pretty nuts if we all just said and did exactly what we were thinking all of the time; I mean, there’s something to be said for a little bit of decorum! But as we tuck pieces of ourselves away, out of fear or shame or insecurity, we risk losing what is most wonderful about each of us.
So where is the line? When does putting away who we are when no one is looking to be who we are in front of others become a compromise of our own integrity? How far do we let the fear of not being accepted take us?
Teenagers are in the thick of this. I see it every day as I witness their wade through the deep waters of figuring themselves out. While they are rolling in the deep, the older I get the more I feel like I just take the occasional plunge. I thought for sure I would wake up one magical day and not care one bit what anyone else thought of me. Do I dare admit that I sometimes care? And if I admit that I care, do I somehow compromise my own character?
With each day I grow more comfortable with the fact that I do care, that I do censor myself to a degree. Each day I grow more at ease with admitting that rather than trying to hide yet another piece of myself by pretending that I don’t. For me, that’s as authentic as I can be right now.
There are people in this crazy world with whom I don’t have to put any pieces of myself away. With each day, I realize the incredible value of spending my time with those people.
And so there I was, wanting to just speed away from whoever was in the next lane over without ever looking at them. Just as I was about to accelerate away from the embarrassing confrontation, something in the air made me duct-tape the mouth of my innerjudge. I faced my fear, and there in the next lane, in the car with all of the eyes, was my dear friend B with her husband and their three kids; all of whom I love. They were all frantically waving and laughing and giddy at seeing me in concert.
I laughed and waved back, still singing.
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inhale peace, exhale stress
20 Dec 2011 16 Comments
in innerwisdom, life, mindfulness Tags: balance, emotions, letting go, yoga
Last year I cried in yoga class.
Sixty plus people packed into a room to salute the sun and stretch away their stress and I was that girl who fell to the floor in a puddle of tears.
I walked in to the practice that night wound up tight. A parent at school was upset with me and I took her words to heart instead of considering that they came from a place of difficulty in her own life. I had taken on too much at work, wasn’t making enough time for myself or the people that I love and my body was carrying all of the garbage that comes with stress. I was unbalanced.
So there I was flowing along, telling myself that with each breath I inhaled peace, exhaled stress; with each new pose I was releasing the tension that had wound me up so tight I couldn’t see straight.
And then we did Goddess pose; known in Susannah-land as make-yourself-as-vulnerable-as-possible pose.
As I stood there, open, exposed, surrounded by strangers, open, tears began to stream down my face. Just as I began to cry, my instructor stood face to face with me. She looked me in the eyes. She mirrored my pose and said, “Be a goddess.” I nodded, still in my pose, thinking, “yup, right, I am so NOT a goddess right now.” I mean, how could I be a goddess with snot dripping down my lip?
She didn’t blink. She didn’t move and said again, “BE A GODDESS.”
And then the floodgates. In that quiet room with all of those people whose feet were planted so solidly on the ground, I fell to the floor and sobbed.
I sobbed for a long time. And no one came over to ask me if I was okay. Or told me it would be alright. No one assured me that if I just stopped crying I would feel better. I just sobbed, curled in a ball on my yoga mat with the quiet hand of my instructor on the center of my back. It was the first time in a long time that I could just let go. I could just feel how I felt without having to explain it to anyone. Without having to apologize to anyone. Without having to feel badly that I was making anyone else feel uncomfortable or put out by my feelings.
Everyone in the room just carried on. And the world didn’t fall apart. And neither did I.
Ah, sweet relief. Sweet release.
This goddess gathered herself up and joined in for Tree pose; her balance had never been better.
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shine on, john travolta!
12 Dec 2011 26 Comments
in innerwisdom, life Tags: inspiration, John Travolta, life, ubuntu
I saw John Travolta. Yup, I did.
He was strolling down 5th Avenue, checking out the elaborate Christmas windows at Bergdorfs on a Friday night just like some sort of normal guy in New York in December. It was chilly, the crowds had thinned enough that my mom and I could really see the windows up close and then, BAM! There he was, John Travolta, walking down the street, carrying a baby, laughing with his family.
He was glowing.
Really, he actually had a bright light shining around him. Oozing out of him. Even his baby was glowing (probably why Mom completely missed JT as she goggled over the lit-up baby). The Travoltas: magical beings carousing on 5th Avenue; beamed down to Earth to spread their light and bring joy to the masses.
And joy they brought! I was star struck. I whipped out my phone to text Kate that I’d spotted the real Urban Cowboy, the better-with-age Vinny Barberino, our god-in-the-flesh Tony Manero in all of his one-piece-jumpsuit glory. I told everyone who’d listen about my special moment. My 3 second brush with celebrity gave me a weird rush; as if being in the mere vicinity of JT’s fabulousness somehow made me fabulous, too!
His glow made me glow.
On the train down to the city I got a phone call from one of my students letting me know that she’d been accepted Early Decision to an incredibly competitive college. I cried. And then I giggled uncontrollably. The woman one seat over gave me a funny look, not knowing that the stifled weird squeaking noise was my version of holding back from jumping up and down and yelling to the whole train about my student’s amazing news. While I was giggling a giant spotlight seemed to shine on me with that loud Thunk! you hear in the movies when the stage is dark and then it isn’t. I’m sure the entire train was looking at me; like that scene in “The Lonely Guy” when Steve Martin goes out to dinner alone. Only they weren’t looking at me because I was awkward; they were looking at me because I was experiencing the fabulousness of someone else’s magical moment. I was glowing.
Celebrities are cool. But they’re only cool because of us. Not to discredit JT. He’s pretty amazingly cool.
But, so are we!
My friends shine light like there’s no tomorrow. And my students, my students are stars. My nieces and nephew, beaming. My brother, on fire. My parents and the rest of my family are all kinds of lit up with coolness. And, on a good day, when I’m surrounded by all of the energy and light of the amazing people in my life, I am a firework.
That’s UBUNTU. You glow, I glow, We glow.
There’s enough light to go around. Shine some. It’s fun.
jackdaddy
05 Dec 2011 30 Comments
in gratitude, life, mindfulness, Uncategorized
It’s Monday and everyone’s dreaming about Friday.
I hadn’t even made it through ten minutes of the workday and people were already moaning about the weekend being over, how much they can’t wait for vacation, how tired they are, how much they hate Mondays.
Don’t get me wrong, I was right there with them. This morning my alarm clock and I were far from friends. I managed to get through the day. I whined occasionally about how I didn’t feel good, raced through to get as much work done as I possibly could and then got out of there as soon as I possibly could.
Monday. Done.
And then I saw a note that an old friend wrote about her day. She wrote about the kindness of others, the kindness she experienced while running errands with her father who has Parkinson’s. She wrote about the gentle greeting of the woman at the dry cleaner who hugged her dad upon his arrival and departure and about the man who sang a Christmas carol while helping her dad walk and about the many people who waited with patience as she and her dad slowly made their way through doors.
Her note made me reflect on my own day, the day I had wished away.
The little girl bogged down with a huge backpack and giant saxophone case who rushed to hold the door open for me this morning. The excitement in the eyes of one of my kids who got her first college acceptance in the mail. The cup of hot tea my mom joined me for after a long day at work. The old man who waved me in to merge with traffic even though everyone behind him was honking. The texts with Kate about the amazing bowl full of heads that she crocheted for me. The memory of my friend’s dad playing the drums with wild abandon in his pajamas in their front hallway.
Thank you to my old friend and her jackdaddy for reminding me that today is more important than tomorrow.
My Monday wasn’t much, but it sure had it’s beautiful moments.
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