January, 2022
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As I’ve written about in the past, the new year always finds me searching to grow, to molt my old skin and start anew. Often it comes in the form of “self-help” books, philosophy, yoga … Anything that pushes me out of my comfort zone and forces me to expand my mind (& in turn, how I think about things).
Sometimes I could talk about this for hours, but this year feels different – like I’ve molted a layer deeper, and am learning to stop and contemplate before speaking. I’m currently reading “Quit Like a Woman” (among other titles, but this currently & primarily) and what I am loving and finding so fascinating is that it isn’t really about quitting at all. It’s about learning to heal, learning to find grounding and truth and love. (I’m only halfway through so I reserve the right to be wrong about this! But it’s my impression thus far).
It’s definitely educating, and I’ve learned a lot about alcohol, its place in our society, its marketing plus its place and eminence throughout history. But mostly, as the book turned its first corner, I began to learn to see in myself the strength and the curiosity I have needed and called upon to begin to heal myself.
**
Tonight, as we watched the first press conference with the NY Giants newly appointed head coach Brian Daboll, I heard in his words some of the things I’ve begun to learn about truth and humanity. Brian Daboll, as journalists ranging from professional and polite to downright snarky asked some truly leading questions, maintained his message. And his message was simple — it’s about relationships, a shared vision, communication and authenticity.
These are not revolutionary themes. They are timeless. I felt a kinship to Mr. Daboll and he earned a ton of my respect for his openness, his honestly and his commitment to his message.
I love these moments, when things in my life dovetail together – when for a moment I glimpse the bigger, connected, energetic picture.
Xox, g
30122
I’m at a loss for what to write about.
My brain is full but I’m still chewing on things, figuring out how I feel.
I got a text the other day with an article. It doesn’t matter what it was about, but there was no context provided. Just an article, out of nowhere, from a person I haven’t spoken to recently. But I understood by the headline that it was an article about a commonality between us.
I opened it and read the first paragraph or two. I responded with an emoji, because I agreed with the article. I was familiar with the subject, and I’d read many things about it over the past few years. I knew how I felt.
My friend’s response was that perhaps the article got it wrong. I sighed and realized I’d have to read the whole thing to properly respond.
So I did. And my feelings didn’t change. I knew how I felt about the situation. I’d both read articles and observed/gathered my own impressions. I felt how I felt, and while I was open to a discussion, I wasn’t ready to change my mind. This specific article did not add anything new to the conversation or give new information.
That was a moment when I knew exactly what to write and how I felt.
That is not the case today. I’m tired and my brain is full of so many things. Thoughts about how life is, how we put people in boxes and try desperately to keep them there. How we are not open to change, we are not willing to see other people as different than who they’d always been in our own minds.
Except when it suddenly becomes socially acceptable to allow that someone has ‘matured’ or ‘evolved.’
It’s a tough nut for me to be chewing on. It’s uncomfortable to acknowledge my own biases and even more difficult to contemplate that perhaps, I am wrong. Not always, but not seldom, either. If I am asking grace of others, if I am working and always learning and changing, I have to grant that others are doing the same. And that is very difficult in certain cases.
As an example: must I be open to my ex-husband being a better person than the one who treated me badly, ripped me apart and left me shattered? Isn’t it easier and more comforting to continue to believe that he’s awful? …. I mean, easier, yes, but fair? Not at all. And if I want to keep growing, I must admit that just as I’m constantly evolving, so is everyone else, including that man. Otherwise I haven’t evolved or grown at all. I have just judged. Possibly unfairly.
Oof.
Yuck.
Asking others for grace means giving it myself. And that’s the hardest part, isn’t it? Learning and understanding that everything is a two way street.
Xox, g
29jan22
As of today, I haven’t had an alcoholic drink in 775 days.
There’s a time in my life when I would find that absolutely insane. I worked in the restaurant industry, I was of Italian descent — wine was in my blood.
But the older I got, and the more disenchanted I became with how alcohol made me feel (honestly, this was a journey with John, so how it made us feel) the less I wanted to drink it. We’d do sober months, give up drinking for Lent … all kinds of things that allowed us to not drink, but also didn’t make anyone else feel uncomfortable about our non-drinking.
I don’t remember exactly what the final straw was, but we both gave up drinking one September. And then a few months later I broke and had a glass of wine while out at dinner with my Dad on a football weekend. I didn’t like that it seemed to make him uncomfortable that we weren’t drinking and I’m nothing if not a Daddy’s girl. Besides, I loved wine.
I had one glass and felt awful. Not mentally, but physically awful. After one glass. One harmless glass of wine.
It was about six weeks later that I once again hung up my drinking glasses (or whatever the appropriate object would be in this metaphor) for good. I stopped drinking full stop four days after my fortieth birthday.
It’s funny to walk through life as a non-drinker but not an alcoholic. It triggers people, leads to some awkward and uncomfortable conversations and forever changes relationships. I had girlfriends who made wild and hilarious proclamations about their drinking – to illustrate their superiority to me? To justify their clearly unhealthy relationship to alcohol? I don’t know.
My choice to be a non-drinker doesn’t have anything to do with anyone but myself. I feel better. My life is better. I also don’t judge anyone else. Everyone can and should make their own life choices, and we are taught young and it is reinforced often, that drinking responsibility is an integral part of life. Of adulting.
Right now I’m reading “Quit Like a Woman” by Holly Whitaker. It’s amazingly informative. So perhaps expect blog posts about not drinking until I finish. 😊
xox, g
28jan22
Today was the last weekday of John’s annual ‘half’ – and because his company does quotas and such in six month increments, it was the last day of crunch time to get deals in to hit sales goals. I’ve learned an enormous amount about corporate America and sales from listening to John talk about work. It’s all fascinating but I am also glad to not be in the rat race anymore.
On the plus side, John hit the goals he wanted to hit yesterday, so today was just icing on the cake. He’s had a really good run since about late May, and we’ve been very lucky. I’ve been supremely lucky because for the first time since I stopped working, I haven’t felt any pressure or need to go back and earn a paycheck. That’s a huge stress relief for a woman with an autoimmune disease that’s triggered by inflammation brought on by stress.
It also began snowing this morning and has continued throughout the day into the evening. It’s beautiful, soft falling snow. Keeping life quiet, but not panicked by massive accumulation. Even the grocery store wasn’t a hot mess when I stopped to get Starbucks this morning.
Today felt calm and cozy. We raised the thermostat two degrees because things just weren’t warming up (even with some space heaters) and now the house feels so warm it makes me constantly want to fall asleep. Haha!
Life feels strangely okay – not the okay you say through a strained smile, but the actual okay of feeling secure and at ease. I don’t trust it – I’ve had too many body swerve moments to feel safe. But just to have this moment – it is a gift.
Xox, g
27jan22
I drove to a breakfast with some lady friends this morning and the beauty of the sun shining through frosted tree branches took my breath away. It made me stop and consider how much beauty exists in the small moments of life.
I guess beauty shows up in different ways to different people. To me, it was the pale corn yellow of a winter sun and the sparkling of ice, it was the warmth of my steering wheel and the sound of the music playing in my car, snaking its way into my heart and the tap tap tap of my fingers. It was the hug of greeting from my friends, the conversations we shared. It was the first sip of my chai and the comfort of my couch and blankets when I arrived home, the fatigue pulsing so deeply it was in my bones.
Beauty was the nudging of Lucy’s nose, her head rubbing softly on my legs to make sure I was okay, to tell me she loved me. It was dancing candles in the early darkness of a winter night, shared popcorn and a movie with my love, cake pops and frizzy water and end of night walks around the curved neighborhood sidewalks.
Beauty was everywhere for me today. It emanated from my life, from the love of my friends and the love of my family and the deep, indescribable love of my husband and my puppy. Beauty triumphed today in the winter sunshine.
Xox, g
26jan22
Two years ago on February 3rd, John’s older brother Alan died.
It was sudden and awful and my memories of that time are a blur — aided mostly by my overly sparse Instagram posts. His death was followed far too closely by Covid and the pandemic and quarantine so sometimes, it feels like a lifetime away.
Today would be his forty second birthday. (Yes, that makes him younger than me). I don’t want to diminish that we lost him far too soon, but when I think about Alan now, I mostly feel joy. I feel him with us a lot and I believe that he’s watching over John with a mindful eye.
The thing about Alan was that he had cerebral palsy. And he was non-verbal. And we didn’t see him a lot – something I could kick myself for now, but I also can’t go back and change. I loved seeing him when we did – it was so patently obvious how much he loved his brother. His eyes filled with love and then utter sadness when we inevitably left. We would stand and talk to him – tell him stories about our lives, tease him about childhood memories. He would withhold kisses from John until he felt John had properly paid penance for not being around.
Alan’s kisses were life. His joy was infectious – his laughter, his smile, his waving arms. I know – if he could – he’d have given us an earful. He’d tease and tell embarrassing stories. He’d harass his little brother.
But that was never their relationship.
So I believe that now – he is doing his brotherly duty. He is giving John strength when he doesn’t believe he has any. He is reassuring him when life feels uncertain and overwhelming. He is lifting him up when he can and walking beside him when that’s what John needs. I feel Alan with us. During the day when something funny happens, and at night when I light candles for he and my mother. He makes me feel safe.
I miss him but I also know he is with us.
Happy Birthday, my brother. I love you.
Xox, g
25jan22
January 25th is Rabbie Burns Day. Well, I mean, sort of.
Who?, you ask.
Robert Burns was the poet laureate of Scotland – I believe the only one ever. And his birthday was January 25th. He’s been dead quite a long time but has left a lasting legacy through his poetry. Before my mother died she began a tradition of doing Burns Night Supper. This involved haggis, neeps and tatties, cranachan, poetry recitation and lots of whiskey. The Scottish kind, so I believe it’s spelled whisky but I’m not completely sure. Maybe I got that backwards? (I don’t have my phone to google and check so I apologize, this is staying as it is).
One of the great things about Burns Supper is the poetry. John and I hosted once, years ago now, when my mother was still alive, and every guest was requested to bring a piece of poetry. As we all ate our Scottish grub, one by one we read our pieces to the group. It was sort of magical because everyone’s selection reflected who they were – original works, Rumi, T.S. Eliot, etc.
John and I began our poetry collection because of Burns Supper. This year I bought him a collection by Amanda Gorman. Last year he bought me Rupi Kaur. There’s something other-worldly about poetry. It makes the mundane seem magic somehow. It is the perfect illustration of the power of language.
This wasn’t what I was going to blog about at all. I was going to talk about how Ally Love re-posted one of my Instagram stories, and how incredible it felt to be ‘seen’ by a woman i admire so greatly. But then I typed the date. And all the memories of Burns Supper came flooding back. And my mother felt closer. And that felt soothing.
Anyway. Happy Burns Night America.
Xox, g
24jan22
I made an unspoken deal with myself this year. I said, ‘Self, let’s try to blog every day again. But let’s not talk incessantly about how tired you are. Let’s just agree that being exhausted is status quo and therefore unnecessary to pontificate on.”
Whether it seems obvious or not, I have actually tried not to blog about headaches and fatigue and all the things that are part of my daily life. I have tried – with varying degrees of success – to blog about my thoughts or other, possibly more interesting, things.
I am tired tonight. The kind of tired that starts with a burn in my shoulder and progresses to bone deep cold and culminates in brain fog and the loss of any sense of balance. I’m just reaching out for something to hold onto to keep me upright.
I meant to blog earlier today (as I often do) but life happened – family drama and bookkeeping and laundry and dinner. You know the things – the things that have to be done but take up time and energy. The latter of which is in very short supply for me.
Anyway. My hope is that I read this blog post tomorrow and it makes some sort of sense. Right now, I’m going to put on pajamas and climb under multiple blankets next to a space heater and hope to stop shivering and fall asleep.
Xox, g
23jan22
I went to a talk today about the gut+brain connection. It was hosted by a friend of mine at our mutual yoga studio (where she also teaches a movement class because she’s amazing and is a dance movement therapist and incredibly well-rounded). I am so glad that I went – on a Sunday afternoon, in January.
The talk ended with the idea of community and how a person’s community affects their microbiome and therefore their gut and their brain health. The entire talk was utterly fascinating but as I talked with my friends and made plans for lunch dates and breakfast dates, the importance of community was driven home.
Five years ago my community of people was very different than my community of people today. Some of that is due to circumstance – I stopped working and commuting into the city. Some of it was on purpose – me understanding my own worth and what I should be looking for in friends.
But it is incredibly interesting how my community has so significantly changed my life. In such a positive way.
Anyway. Surround yourself with the energy that makes you light up from the inside. Find the people who re-charge your battery. And then nurture and take care of those friendships. Because they are life.
Xox, g
22jan22
I’ve always had a love hate relationship with my memory. I can make people uncomfortable with my ability to remember dates or strange, inconsequential details. And other times, it’s as though my brain chose not to remember something at all. Completely gone, as though it never happened at all.
I saw this meme and I saved it as a reminder that my memory, good bad or fickle, is not the gospel. Sometimes it’s better to let it fade. Release all the emotions and move forward.
That’s the only direction time moves, anyway.
Xox, g
D5 Creation