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9jan22

Here’s the thing about resolutions — the only person who gives them any power, any weight, is the person making them.

This is what I thought as I lay in bed, so proud of closing my eyes before 9.45p (my designated bedtime) having accomplished all the things I needed to do before bed.

And then, as John and I talked about life and our upcoming week, and how lucky we are to have each other, and how much we love Fellowship of the Ring my eyes – newly filled with eye ointment – popped open and I said “I forgot to blog.”

A thousand things ran through my brain at once and I came to the sad and inevitable conclusion that no, while it did not truly matter if I blogged or not, yes, it actually did matter a great deal to me.  I managed to blog most every day at the beginning of last year and last year’s beginnings were much more bleak than this year.  If I can’t manage to follow my own prescribed discipline and my own rules, then what am I even doing?

So here I am, talking about nothing because today was a lazy day filled with football and spiralized sweet potato and freezing rain and strange television. And even if I’d had a brilliant blog post idea, right now all I want to do is stop squinting through my eye ointment, lie down and go to sleep.

But I did blog and even though it’s nonsense it means something to me.  These words, this blog.  It means something to me.

Xoxo, g

4jan22

Last year I decided that spending time trying to think of blog post names was unnecessary.  The point, I rationed with myself, was that I needed to blog.  And I needed to do it more consistently.  I could write about anything or nothing but I had to write.

Those are my parameters this year – I just need to write.  I need to be consistent.  I need to remember how to be disciplined.  To introduce, provide content and then summarize everything in a tidy conclusion.  Some of my posts last year did that – some were even good.  What mattered to me was that they existed.  That was all.  And that’s what still matters — although the good ones do make me a little proud.

Today, as we drove from one house to another, certain thought patterns played over and over again in my head.  Pennsylvania countryside sliding by, bright winter sunshine and frigid temperatures.  Chris Stapleton in the background.  I thought about how I didn’t acknowledge the new year, how I didn’t acknowledge Ben’s last Pittsburgh home game.  How would people know that it mattered to me if I didn’t post on social?   How would they know?!?

And then I reminded myself that people — whoever they are — don’t need to know and I don’t need to tell them.  It doesn’t matter if strangers see a social media post of mine proclaiming a great afternoon lunch or a sports team allegiance.  My life should just be my own and my joy should come from my own genuine enjoyment of whatever I am doing — without the need to tell the world and — either consciously o r unconsciously — ask for ‘likes’.

It’s a very hard lesson.  I haven’t successfully learned it.  I find comfort in the feedback — the public’s approval of my curated online life.

Blogging feels different for me – a little piece of my soul, my words.  And people don’t read blogs anymore, anyway.  Too much content, too much time commitment.  Twitter is better – podcasts are better.

That’s okay.  I find comfort in writing.  I find comfort in screaming into my particular void — this blog, this platform that no one reads.  (Well, I read it.  It’s like re-visiting different versions of myself through time).

Anyway.  We’re ‘home’.  Y’know, our other home.  Which is weird but also joyful.  Tomorrow life revs its engine and Thursday it shifts into gear.  Back into routine, husby back to work.  Me back to trying to figure out what I’m doing and what I’m working toward.

Don’t worry, I’m figuring it out.  🙂

 

xox, g

Day 294

I love chilly mornings.  Waking up snuggled in bed, listening to the even breath of husby, the snurfling of Lucy Lou.  Knowing there is time before anyone moves, before the day begins.

Recently they ‘trimmed’ the trees along the road below our house and now, it sounds like a Nascar racetrack most early mornings, when the sun is just beginning to lighten the sky — deep blues and purples turning to grays and violets.

The sun rises from the behind the hills that we see from our bedroom windows.  A horizon of red and orange melting to pink and then corn yellow before opening up into a crisp blue-white morning.  Birds are chirping and life is humming.

It’s been a strange October … it’s been a strange year.  Nothing will ever be the ‘same’ again … we have irrevocably shifted course and we must acknowledge that and move forward within that  … even if it feels as though no one is on the same page.

Maybe it’s always been that way.  Maybe I’m only just seeing it now, as I come around the corner of ‘middle age’  … and begin to realize that nothing is as we were taught.  None of the rules mean anything.  No one knows what they are doing – no one.  We are all just making it up as we go.

I feel suspended in time, not quite here and not quite there.  Anticipating the future, mourning the past.  But not quite present.  I long to find the person I used to be but also, wonder if she even exists anymore.  It’s been a long time since March 2020 when the whole world changed.  It feels longer still since May 2020 when George Floyd died.  I cannot unsee what I have seen … and yet nothing has changed.  Isn’t that peculiar and also so indicative of our culture?  Disappointing.  Infuriating.  Exhausting.

I move through the day doing what I ‘should’ do … according to … I don’t know.  Me?  The world? Social media?

I read once that we are not who we think we are.  And we are not who other people think we are.  We are who we think other people think we are.

So does that mean we are self-imposing uncomfortable and unnatural guidelines to our lives?  How do we shake that overly layered and unnecessarily complicated filter?

I can tell you one thing – I do not know.

I know that I come here to speak to the void, but also to speak to anyone who stumbles upon this page and keeps reading.  I am speaking to the other curious people out there, feeling lost and looking for answers.

I do not think answers will ever exist.

And getting comfortable with *that* is the hardest task of all.

xoxo, g

 

 

 

Day 75

We are all on journeys.

Sometimes we don’t know where we are going or why … but we are traveling.  Aimlessly, with laser focus … everything in between.  Traveling along the road of time.

I think about time a lot.

Time is funny and tricky – like an optical illusion.  Fast and slow simultaneously.  I remember when my mother turned forty — she knew everything, she was glamorous and smart and had it all together.  She had the answers to all the questions.  She was everything.

I didn’t feel that way when I turned forty.  I felt like I was still fifteen — unsure and unknowing.  A little lost, a little reckless, a little afraid.  Still trying to figure it out, this adulting thing.  Still looking for answers to unanswerable questions.

Did she feel that way, too?  Probably.  But she never let on.

I feel young and old every day.  Lost and found every day.  I feel like my journey is a lazy drift down a winding river and also, a jump out of a plane.

And I am always, always tired.

Xoxo, g

Day 56

Have you ever said a word so many times it loses all semblance of meaning?  All of a sudden you’ve said … believe …. over and over and over and it stops having any shape, any definition.  It’s just sounds — it doesn’t make sense anymore.

Or have you looked at a foreign word (not just Arabic or Japanese but any language that uses the Latin/Roman alphabet) and thought … this combination of letters makes no sense to me at all?  (I have a lot because I’m currently trying to learn French — my sister-in-law is French and she speaks excellent English and I can say Une coke avec glas sil vous plait in French … and that’s about it). So many people on this planet use words that mean nothing to so many other people.  It’s wild.

I was thinking about these things today while I meditated (probably rendering my meditation useless but ce la vie).  There’s a line in Avengers: Infinity War that Thor says during his first meeting with the Guardians of the Galaxy.  It’s sort of a throwaway line, but John and I love it.  He says,

“All words are made up.”

How TRUE is that?  I mean, if you stop and think about it, so much of the construct of our lives is just … made up.  Not by us but by someone and it was adopted by others and then passed on.  Words were created — seemingly meaningless combinations of letters and sounds — that were assigned to specific things.  And so on and so on, ad infinitum.  

We watched a movie recently about the first editor of the Oxford Dictionary and it made me think about the definitions of words in a whole new light.  I’ve always taken the dictionary for granted but there was a time when there was not a comprehensive list of all the known words and their definitions.  In fact, it’s only about one hundred years old (the Oxford Dictionary, that is).  How wild is that?  Something I’ve just taken for granted as always being available, always existing.  Now it’s an app on my phone (a lovely, well-used one at that!).  But not so long ago … well, the cataloging of words was the Wild West.

Anyway.  That’s what’s on my mind the night before a day at the hospital being reminded how inefficient health care in the USA really is.  Joy.

Xox, g

Day 42

I wish I had something really good to write about today.

Because, honestly, I’ve found myself blogging once again right before bed, and my brain is mush and all I really want to do is wash my face, meditate and sleep.

To be fair, today was a wild day.  I talked to more people than I am used to talking to, I had a job offer (and it rocks!) and I discovered a new author. Among other things.  Yes, I know.  Insanity!

Let me just say, if you aren’t a habitual reader, discovering a new author is like finding unexpected gold.  It feels magical and exciting and strangely secretive. In the best possible way.  Like when I found out that my Dad started to read Daniel Silva novels and we could finally share the joy of having read the same books.

Delicious.

Anyway, I discovered Joan Didion and simultaneously discovered that it was absolutely horrifying that I’d never read her – let alone heard of her! – before.

She is a seminal writer in the lexicon of United States authors.  Her body of work is wildly impressive.  And, it turns out, she also has MS.  Almost like a footnote to her life.  I absolutely love that.

Anyway, when I inevitably forget to blog tomorrow, or the next day, please know it’s because I’m lost in a book that is so exquisite I haven’t surfaced for air.

xox, g

Day 19 /4

It’s an interesting phenomenon, leaving social media after spending so many years affected by its ebb and flow, its plethora of messages and guidance on how to be the best version of myself (according – oftentimes – to  people I don’t know). Social media created an entire world where some people have bigger voices that reach farther, that carry more heft.  It is a world, an environment, that has a different set of rules than other, more personal arenas.   It empowers some while silencing others; it manipulates reality with algorithms and targeted marketing.  It is a sub-culture of reality.  It is simultaneously trivial and powerful beyond measure.

The weight of the civil rights movement in America in mid-2020 felt heavier every time I scrolled Instagram, every time I was ‘reprimanded’ for not doing it right, for being too privileged, too white.  There were lessons in that that I could not have learned any other way while being confined to my home in my safe, affluent, white corner of the world.  Uncomfortable, essential lessons about perspective, about power, about motivation and greed.

But other movements, other ‘lessons’ felt less significant and yet equally powerful.  And that is the rub of social media.  Did I post the right photo of Dr. King and say the right thing about his messages (particularly as a middle class white woman … ).  Did I acknowledge whatever is happening in the world with due respect?  Did I state my position and take a  side?

Should I have to?

I didn’t think about it until my meditation this morning (a special meditation by  Chelsea Jackson Roberts on Peloton in honor of MLK Day yesterday).  But instead of spending time agonizing over being ‘correct’ all I did yesterday was acknowledge and think about Dr. King and his influence and impact on civil rights in America.  And that was freeing.

I won’t lie, I miss Instagram.  I miss my friends and I miss posting pictures about the mundane details of my life.  Even if no one actually cares.  Haha!  I miss documenting my Peloton and Sculpt journeys.  I miss having conversations and messaging with people every day.

But I don’t miss the peer pressure.  I don’t miss the angst and the controversy.  I don’t miss the comparisons and the judgement.

Will I go back?  Probably.  When?  I’m not sure.  I have a date marked that I want to get to and after that I’ll reevaluate.  But it is funny how the further away from something you get, the less powerful its pull to return.

Xox, g

 

 

Day 18 (Day 3)

I think, in a lot of ways, we all fancy ourselves adventurers.  Ready for wherever the clues lead us, wherever the wind blows us; up for anything new and exciting.  Especially now, when there are so few opportunities to do something out of the ordinary; so few opportunities to go new places, try new things.

I used to fancy myself flexible.  And today I was reminded, with forceful clarity, that flexibility is no longer a well honed muscle in my arsenal.  Maybe … and I haven’t thought long enough to say for sure, but maybe it never was.  I just wanted it to be.

The idea of that is humbling, frustrating and depressing.  To realize that something as small as a Monday holiday (MLK Day) could so drastically throw me off my game.  Mondays are my re-set day.  They are the foundation of my week.  They are the grounding of my daily life.  And today wasn’t that.

Today should have been a great day.  A day full of fun and relaxation, no responsibility, no to-do list.  Just John and Lucy and me.  And adventure. Instead it felt claustrophobic, suffocating.  Where was my gym time?  Where was my office time?   Is this the reality of my life without work?!? FOREVER?!? 

Or is it the result of COVID?  Tipping this carefully crafted existence that keeps me sane; that is delicate and sensitive and can devolve into a tailspin with the smallest of deviances?

Am I gripping so tightly to routine, to normalcy, that anything that unbalances it I view as a threat?

I fall into deep abysses  of meandering thoughts; thoughts about existence and my place in the world, anyone’s place and purpose in the world … and come up with nothing.  Why would a change in schedule so profoundly change me, alter my mood and state of mind?  My energy presence in the world.

I have a million questions about life, its purpose on a macro and micro level.  Why we do the things we do as humans, the purpose of it all.  I have all these big, deep thoughts and then Martin Luther King Jr’s holiday wacks me so far out of orbit that I lose myself.

What is happening to me?

Xox, g

Day 12

Y’know how some days just feel a lot heavier than others?

That’s today for me.  Maybe it’s the residual effect of our weekend away, maybe it’s family dinner from last night.  Maybe it’s the pain & frustration of another day with MS.  Maybe it’s America & her government.

I don’t know.  Today just feels … awful.  No rhythm.  No comfort.  Nothing.  Just interruptions and fire drills and worries and sadness.

I am grateful for my house.  My office & my gym.  Heat.  Food in the fridge.  Comfy clothing to put on after a shower.  I am grateful for the knit blanket I won on an Instagram giveaway.  I am grateful that I can walk most of the time without aid.  I am grateful for health insurance and access to doctors.  I am grateful for my Neuchâtel chocolates (given to me last night by my Dad).  I am grateful for my husband and for my puppy.  I am grateful.

I am grateful.

Xox, g

 

Day 11

Jennie & Bubski & little Louie.  

 

Tonight we had a family dinner.  Tomorrow my brother & his wife leave for Colorado.  And after that France.  And after that … who knows!

That’s what makes Dave Dave and I couldn’t imagine it any other way, even though I wish we saw him more.  I’ve heard other people’s opinions about him my whole life, but here’s what I think.  He’s the best.  And he’s the best because he lives life exactly as he does.

Our dad sent us the above photo today.  I always love the surprise emails from him; usually one brief line of text and a photo that feels priceless.  This one of Jennie and Bubski and my Dad, his little family growing up.  At a backyard BBQ party at Geneva on the Lake.  Just a brief moment in time, captured and now shared with us.  It felt perfect.

Family is family is family.  I grew up completely blessed.  I know that now more than ever before.  Tonight, sitting around the table,  we all told stories, some old, some new.  My dad told Jo about his first trip to Europe — a legendary story to us kids (and John, too).  About Bubski handing him $500, getting his passport in a day in downtown Pittsburgh.  Arriving in Rome and watching Aida at the Circus Maximus, drinking wine out of leather wine bladders.  Riding the train to Naples in order to catch the boat to Capri.  Shopping for pearls.  He told new stories, like our maternal grandfather’s first trip to the USA in 1976.  Going to Fort Pitt and seeing the re-enactment soldiers.  Dinner at Oakmont Country Club.

Dave & I talked about how absolutely lucky we were to have our parents, people who saw the positive, who believed in the magic, who exposed us to the world.  Who did nothing but encourage us to go out and live our lives.

I probably saw more similarities in us tonight than I’ve ever seen.  It felt comforting.  My little brother, my first best friend.  Whose life looks so different from my own.  And yet, who resembles me in so many ways.

Family is crazy.  And I love mine.