It's official: I've given up on losing the rest of the "baby weight." She's almost five, now, by the way, so I guess it's really the "child weight" — it arrived when I was pregnant but stuck around to see the little one grow up. Can't blame it for sentimentality. Happens to the best of … Continue reading I’ve given up on losing the baby weight
When I was spent and dumb in the first weeks of motherhood I started listening to a meditation series from Deepak Chopra. Sitting on the weathered wooden deck of my parents' rental home in Maine, I earnestly absorbed his instruction to tune into the spaces between my thoughts. My imagination conjured what those spaces would … Continue reading The space between
Last night I had a dream that someone or something was knocking, and it represented getting a step closer to becoming a full-time artist, and in my dream, I said to myself, "This is a perfect metaphor for what I'm going through — I should blog about it tomorrow." (Yes, I am apparently scouting for … Continue reading What’s knocking?
If you read yesterday's post, you know I'm processing some intense feelings these days. Feelings of shame, of loss, and — at the same time — hope. All tied to finally, finally listening to my intuition and becoming the artist I'm meant to be. So when Facebook reminded me of this blog post that my friend Lauree … Continue reading Doing what feels right (instead of what we wish felt right)
I've been living with shame about money for seven years now. And it's taken its toll. It started when the recession hit and my business tanked. It never fully un-tanked. There were bright spots, things were always right around the corner, but I never reached my pre-recession earning level. Ever. Still. It took years for my … Continue reading Shame and Money
As I twisted and turned, that ride from over 20 years ago came back to me. It's like my younger self was also there, in parallel, Sliding Doors-style. I've had this feeling before, usually when I'm back in Philly, and vivid reminders of a previous existence come crashing in...
What kills me is how much money you must have spent on this, all in an effort to appear "woke," all in an effort to sell us sugary crap that's bad for us.
If you actually gave a shit, how about spending even a nickel of that budget on creating actual social change?
We were in high school, young and in love, and my parents had invited us to join them for dinner at a nice Italian restaurant in Washington, DC.
As we waited for our meals to arrive, we all started to help ourselves to the bread basket sitting in the middle of the table. Jordan began smoothing butter across the slice of bread he'd selected.
"Jordan," one of my parents said (I can't remember which one). "That's not the way to butter bread."
"Sorry — what?"
"The way you're doing it, putting all the butter on at once. It's more polite to tear off a piece at a time and butter each piece — like this," my parent showed him.
Jordan looked around like he might be on an episode of Candid Camera — like, "Was this shit for real?" — and then proceeded to ask a very reasonable question: "Why?"
Now, I say this was a reasonable question, and it was. You might also argue that it was an obvious one. And you might wonder, now that you find yourself thinking about it, why anyone would ever go along with a prescribed way of applying butter to bread without asking why.
It had never occurred to me to ask why.
There are certain things that happen in your life, and from that point forward, you think, always, in terms of "before" and "after." For me, this moment — the moment with the buttering of the bread — was one of those moments.
Thank you to the spoken word poet Sarah Kay for your presence at Creative Mornings NYC this morning, where you captivated my attention. For someone to captivate me these days is really quite a feat, with Twitter just a click away and my busy mind and so many other distractions. Witnessing your truth flowing through was an electric experience. You viscerally compelled me to remember the importance of saying what I mean with the full power of my being; you reminded me, too, of the beauty of doing so, and the shame in concealing such beauty.
After he won, I vowed I'd write more, would wield the keys of my laptop like a sword — but this sword has stayed in its sheath. Not because I'm a pacifist in this war, no, not at all, but because there are so many other battles I'm also fighting, every day, as the world burns. As the world burns, I'm unemployed. And I'm uncertain about what the next chapter holds — what I want it to hold. And sometimes, it feels like a farce, to be considering such things, as democracy is dismantled all around me. What does it matter, anyway? But then optimism takes the reins, and I tell myself, life must go on...