Sunshine Celebrating

I spent the weekend in California, soaking up the sun and the company of old friends. There’s nothing like spending time with people who have known you for years, who you fall easily into conversation with as if no time has passed, who you can fight and make up with like siblings, who you can be completely yourself around. What better way to kick off my birthday week celebration than that?

It was great to see RaeRae and RunRun who graciously hosted me in their lovely Oakland apartment, to finally get to dine at my friend’s very popular and deliciously successful restaurant, State Bird Provisions, to meet up with Supple in Napa, and to enjoy a sunny brunch with James Dean, Natalie Wood, and Bird.

I could have tacked on a bunch of meet ups with other friends but I made the hard choice to keep this trip simple instead of shoving people into slots of time, running from cafe to bar to restaurant in an attempt to make everyone feel included. I always end up exhausted and I hate rushed visits with people I care about. I will be back in August for a family wedding and reunion so hopefully I can fit in get togethers with folks I didn’t get to see this time around.

Two days until I turn 40. . . I think I’m feeling okay about it.

“Enough”

I read some of my old journals the other day. You know, the kind where you use a pen and write words on paper. (I believe that’s considered retro now, that’s how old I have  become.) Entry after entry I talked about how I needed to lose weight. The pages were filled with body hatred and self-loathing, interspersed with boy drama. But the idea that I didn’t deserve love because I wasn’t thin, the notion that if I couldn’t get to a certain weight, nothing in my life would ever work out, was ever-present. It made me so sad to read. Because essentially I’ve spent my entire life feeling bad about my body.

I’m a week away from 40 and still haven’t figured out how to fully accept my size. I have wasted so much time and energy on this. I’ve been on every diet. I’ve been fatter; I’ve been thinner. I’ve gone to therapy. I’ve tried everything except self-acceptance. I would go out on a limb and say that one of the biggest regrets of my life is that I’ve never been able to look in the mirror and say, “I’m beautiful.”

The biggest bullshit lie I’ve ever swallowed is that thin equals beautiful. I’ve spent a lifetime unable to love myself or feel worthy of being loved because I am not thin “enough.” This message is delivered to us pretty much everywhere we look. I’ve found it reinforced in the media ad nauseum and in my relationships, particularly with some of the men I mistakenly chose to give my heart to. The guys who said I’d be “really hot” if I lost weight (but they’d still have sex with me) or who claimed they didn’t know what they’d say if a friend of theirs commented on my size (no one ever had) or who casually mentioned over dinner that his friends looked down on him because he dated me (because of my body) (I never met these friends and assume they were imaginary). I could go on but I don’t really want to fall into a shame spiral this early in the morning.

When I turned 30, I quit smoking. I was an “occasional smoker” I’d say, but then I was smoking on breaks at work and on my drive home and at parties and after dinner and well, I was a smoker. But on my 30th birthday I gave it up, finally, after many failed attempts. I thought about how I wanted to become a mom and be around for as long as I could for my kid I’d someday have and so I quit.

For my 40th birthday I’m giving myself another gift: I’m quitting body hatred. I’m not going to stop working out or eating vegetables or taking care of my health. I’m just going to drop the ridiculous guilt and shame cloud that I’ve lived my entire life under. My problem hasn’t been not knowing what to eat or how much to work out. Rather, I’ve been stuck in my body loathing, operating from a place of hate and embarrassment rather than self-love. It’s just that, you guys, I’m tired of feeling less than because I weigh more than someone told me I should. I’m fed up with it defining my worth. I’m over the bullshit and done living out the lie.

Happy birthday to me.

Almost 40: A Retrospective

It’s funny to think that as a teenager the thought of turning 40 sounded so old and yet here I am, weeks away from it, and I only feel slightly old. I’m reminded of my age at work sometimes as I eat lunch with friends who are in their 20′s who don’t get my pop culture references and me, theirs. As I hear about their late night adventures or group trips with pals, I nostalgically recall the time in my life when that was my reality. They share their dating stories and I’ll chime in with one of my old tales, “I once went on a date with a guy who unhinged his jaw as we ate sushi.” There’s entertainment in having lived a life. I’ve got the stories to prove it.

I can look in the mirror now and see what time has done to age my face. I can feel the creakiness in my knees and my hips as I take the stairs. After a few cocktails, I wake up with a slight headache and severely dehydrated after a night of fitful sleep. I prefer to go to bed at 10 because I will inevitably wake up before 7am whether I want to or not and I somehow need 8+ hours of sleep now to function. I don’t want to go to a concert if the main act starts at 10pm or if I am forced to stand in a crowded room of drunk people vying for a good position to see the performer. I don’t want to wait an hour for a table at a popular restaurant. I don’t care about having a lot of friends but rather, a small crew of A List friends suits me just fine. I live in suburbia and prefer it. I have a husband, a house, a career, a 403b, and a savings account.  I’m kind of a grown up even though I often feel like it’s still the 90′s and I’m still in my 20′s.

My teens were tumultuous: Alcoholic dad in a dysfunctional home. All girls Catholic high school education. Driving around in cars with friends with nothing to do but hang out, sing along to the radio, and dream. Delaying a four-year college for a two-year to stay closer to home. And then on the cusp of turning 20, my dad passing away.

My 20′s were marked by grief. I was angry and wrote a lot of mediocre poetry. I spent my free time in thrift and record stores, palling around with Jenny Two Times and Tomato and other friends, hanging out around the pool at my mom’s house, drinking wine coolers and sneaking smokes of clove cigarettes. I’d wear thrifted housecoats with Converse or mailman pants with bowling shoes. We were called “alternative” just like the music we listened to.  I lost a bunch of weight and spent a few years that way then gained it all back. I moved to Santa Cruz and eventually graduated from UC Santa Cruz with a degree in Women’s Studies & a minor in Literature. I went there with the intention of studying creative writing but the most I’ve ever done with that dream is become a blogger. I dated a series of guys who taught me a lot about love and heartbreak- they are a post or two unto themselves. I made friends and lost friends and smoked a bunch of weed. I became a women’s self-defense instructor which was probably one of the most pivotal experiences in my life. I worked a bunch of jobs: Michael’s Arts & Crafts, a pottery painting place, housing and admissions offices at UCSC, read books aloud for a blind girl, office administrator for a group home, volunteer coordinator for a youth empowerment organization, community educator for a sexual assault/domestic violence non-profit, and a development director for an AIDS organization. I had roommates, good and bad, and for the first time in my life, lived all alone.

In my 30′s I felt dissatisfied. Wasn’t I supposed to know what the fuck I was doing with my life already? I moved to Seattle and in doing so, everything changed. I learned to be an urbanite and a Pacific Northwesterner. I got lost a lot but now I know my way around pretty well. I came here with no job, just enough savings to get me through 5 weeks. I went on many interviews and turned down a bunch of jobs until I was offered the one I still have, almost 7 years later. I dated some guys, some good, some bad, and even had a few boyfriends. I lived in apartment for the first time in my life. I became an apartment manager which taught me a lot and helped me pay off my debt and save money for the first time ever. I met Mr. Darcy and our first seven hour date turned into moving into together, to getting married, to where we are today. I got through cervical cancer. I paid off my student loan debt and my car. I did a lot of grown up things, some of which sucked. My adorable nephew whose impending birth was the impetus for my big move, is going on 7. He likes to play Mario Brothers, and soccer, and have nerf gun fights, and would live on cheese and nut crackers if he could. I am forever indebted to him for being born and giving me the gumption to change my entire life. Seattle has been good to me and my 30′s allowed me to finally settle into myself. It’s where I found home, and love, and ultimately, the life I dreamed of.

What will my 40′s bring? I’m hopeful it will just keep getting better.

Record Breaking

I’m so, so exhausted that I don’t think I can do much more than tell you that the fundraiser was a smashing success. It blew all previous fundraising goals out of the water and broke the million dollar mark. As in two commas needed! I really didn’t think we’d hit that this year though for the last 3 years I’ve been told we should strive for it. Here’s some perspective: I started managing this event five years ago and our goal was to get 800 people in the room and break $500,000. Wednesday we had over 1,100 people in the room and raised $1,073,129.

(I’m still having trouble saying the number out loud. WOW!)

Was it really only a week ago that I was having a complete and utter meltdown in my cubicle, thoroughly convinced that the program was not going to come together and be compelling to guests? I pride myself on a tightly executed (everyone in and out in an hour) program that packs a big punch with our message mainly through youth speakers who have used our services. I went out on a limb this year and had a singer/guitarist, a spoken word poet, and a rapper (all our youth) perform. I wondered if the audience would be able to relate or feel moved because art is subjective. They got standing ovations and guests sought them after the program to congratulate them. That’s my favorite part of the entire event, really- seeing the youth I’ve worked with take the stage and shine. To hear the praise and watch them bask in it. They deserve that recognition and so much more.

Of course, there were some major hiccups but none of them were on our part and luckily most guests had no idea they were even happening. We premiered our new logo and a brand new one minute commercial about our organization that I’m super proud of. I don’t normally attach my place of work with my on line presence but I’m making an exception this time because I really hope you’ll watch it and see who I work for and why. (Watch for a boy standing at an opening door holding a suitcase. That’s my nephew! And me opening the door but you can only see my hand.)

I’m incredibly lucky to work for an organization where I get to do what I love (event planning) and support changing the trajectory of the lives of foster youth alongside fantastic co-workers. I’m so grateful my life led me here.

A Whole Lot of What

Has it really been over two weeks since my last blog post? Time flies when you’re up to your eyeballs with event planning. Our annual luncheon is on Wednesday and long-time readers know I usually disappear during the weeks leading up to it. I’ll hopefully be able to have a life again come Thursday. You know, like cook an actual meal, see friends, and not wake up every few hours with event-related thoughts.

When I last wrote, I had met the karaoke neighbors. Sadly, my nice approach did nothing to dissuade them from partying on and so, a week later as they karaoke-raged for four hours, we called the cops. Within 20 minutes of making the call, it was blissfully quiet. A week went by with no episodes and I thought, naively, that they had gotten the message. That maybe it just took cops knocking on your door telling you to knock it off to really understand what an incredible nuisance you are. Nope! They were at it again this weekend and by hour 3, I was at my wit’s end. It was still going on when I went to bed after 11pm even though both myself and Mr. Darcy had called in noise complaints within the last hour and a half.

Sigh.

I just really feel like I served my time with this loud music bullshit having put up with The Music Man all those years at the apartment. We’re going over there today to be a bit more blunt. The music is too loud. The bass is up too high. KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF.

In other news, Kaply has decided to abandon me for the high desert which, while I understand her wanting to live closer to family, really makes me super sad. She was one of my first Seattle pals and it just won’t be the same having her close. This news followed on the heels of Jeni’s announcement that she’s moving to Austin in the Fall and just days after another good friend packed up and moved to California for a really great job opportunity. Let’s not forget that Supple moved back to California not that long ago too. While I’m happy that all of them are going after the lives they want, I’m seriously bummed to lose 4 girlfriends in the span of a year. It’s hard to make friends as you get older and while, of course, I will still remain friends with all of them, it’s not the same as having them in the same city. When did life get so complicated and how in the hell did time whiz by so I’m this almost-40 year old woman trying to get pregnant, going to bed at the hour I used to leave the house for a night on the town, complaining about karaoke neighbors, and lamenting the challenges of aging?

My 40th birthday is in a little over a month. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t yet panicked about it. Is there really anything to panic about? I managed to eek some major life accomplishments in during my 39th year- marry my person, buy a house, beat cancer. I just had my second PAP check up post-surgery and it came back clear again. No HPV. No abnormalities. It’s hard to trust that I might be okay after having not been okay. Does that make sense? My ability to live in that place of carefree ignorance is gone. When someone tells you that you have cancer, you don’t ever exist in the world the same way. Even after you get it cut out of you and get a clean bill of health. I’m still trying to make sense of it but know it’s changed how I see myself and the world.

Where am I going with this? I have no idea. I just wanted to pop in and say hi, tell you I’m okay over here, living my little life. Despite life’s little annoyances, I’m content. I’ve been blogging here since February 2005. HOW THE HELL DID THAT HAPPEN? Sometimes I think maybe it’s run its course. Maybe it’s time for me to sign off as Sizzle Says and live outside the blog world. I’m not entirely there yet, ready to pull the plug. I’d miss you. That’s the honest answer. I keep sticking around because I like you guys. Even though blogging is nothing like it was back in the early days, I’ve managed to find a community here and that’s what matters. For me, it’s never been about notoriety or getting a book published or being voted “best”- it’s about connecting. And so I keep showing up here with my stories, albeit with less frequency, to talk to you. Thanks for reading and being here, even the ones who just stalk me and never comment.

It’s Not Really A Secret

Mr. Darcy and I don’t really celebrate Valentine’s Day. We get each other a card and have dinner together, nothing fancy. But last night I came home from dance and there was a roaring fire, candles lit, the table set with flowers, and a husband preparing me dinner. Please note that the only thing Mr. Darcy has cooked for me in our three plus years together is a grilled cheese.

I married a sweetheart. His sweetness is a constant truth but it still catches me off guard. I haven’t always picked nice guys to give my heart to. Case in point, the other day I was scrolling through the secrets on Post Secret when I came upon a postcard that made me stop and do a double take. There was a photo of two people mid-kiss with the text of the postcard cutting off half their faces. The cursive handwriting said something about wishing he could forget her so he could move on with his life.

The man kissing the woman in the photo is an ex of mine.

And then everything got complicated inside me. Because here I am, a happily married woman, feeling like someone gut-punched me as I look at the ex kissing his ex in a photo on a famous website. It’s so complicated, the story of me and this ex, I can’t even begin to explain it here. The cut-to-the-chase version would be: we were on again and off again over the span of 5 years and the last time we  were on again, he and the woman in the picture with him, were breaking up and he was (once again) proclaiming his undying love for me (as he was wont to do, even when he was engaged to her). But, here is his face with her face, kissing, with his words about being unable to move on with his life since they split (over 3 years ago). We all make wrong choices. Maybe his was cheating on her. Very possibly mine was ever giving that guy my heart.

I’m not supposed to care about this at all or feel like a complete chump for believing everything he said all those years when he’d come crawling back to me over and over with his professions of me being his one and only. But being married doesn’t erase my past and having ended it with him doesn’t make it not hurt. I started to question all of it and felt the fool. Not because I care about him pining for me but if he did, would that finally make all the shit he put me through mean something? Truthfully, I always thought that someday I’d find a secret on that site from him about me.

I haven’t spoken to him in years, not since right before I met Mr. Darcy. I believe that letting this ex go was a big reason I was able to be open to SEE Mr. Darcy when he entered my life. Like I’ve said, I have not always excelled at being available for good men. But I walked away from that toxic, tumultuous relationship that made me feel small and unworthy and twisted up inside and said aloud: I want more than this for myself. I want to build a life with someone who shows up, who is here with me every day in every way, who builds me up, not breaks me down. I wanted someone who would fight for me and our relationship.

Enter Mr. Darcy, stage left.

I talked to Mr. Darcy about all this over dinner the night I discovered the postcard. I was nervous to tell him I was hurt that the postcard was not about me but I didn’t want to keep it from him when it bothered me so much. But, true to form, he got it and wasn’t threatened by it. We actually had a thoughtful conversation about love, relationships, the past, and ego. And in the end, I was reminded again what an amazing man I am married to.

The ex used to say he was never jealous of the men I dated while we were broken up because no one would ever love each other like we did. In a way he’s right- no two loves are exactly the same- but in a big way he’s so, so wrong because I would choose Mr. Darcy a million times over him. Even when we’re a mess, we’re fighting, we’re annoying or boring each other, Mr. Darcy is my choice. The love I share with him surpasses every other love I’ve had. It’s the love I want to spend the rest of my life in.

Saying Good-bye to Oliver

Oliver as a pup at one of his favorite places- the beach.

We spent part of Sunday sitting on the floor with Oliver, petting him and showering him with love, knowing that it wouldn’t be much time before he would be gone. We didn’t think he’d decline so rapidly. We hoped we would have a few months left with him after his cancer diagnosis but the medicine wasn’t helping. He wasn’t himself- he could barely get up on his own and his breathing was labored, more like puffs of air than breaths and my mom had made the appointment for the vet to come out and help him pass. It was a tearful time with the family as we remembered good times with Ollie- all his romps at the beach and games of fetch, how he’d often show up from the bedroom with one of my mom’s slippers in his mouth, the way he would happily greet everyone with a tail wag and sometimes with his nose directly into your crotch, and how all humans and dogs were happy in his company. He looked like a big Muppet when he ran and, man, he loved to run. So seeing him lying there unable to barely walk was so heartbreaking.

We gave him final kisses and hugged my mom. As we were all standing around outside in the driveway- Finn and Dokey playing a game of chase before they got into the car, and Darcy and I hugging my mom and sharing a laugh through tears- my mom said, “Shhh, I hear something!” It was the clop of Oliver’s feet through the kitchen as he came out to join us. How he got up on his own, we don’t know but we greeted him merrily and with great affection, “Oliver! What a good boy!” and he wagged his tail like the good ol’ days when he’d stand by my mom’s side and watch us all drive away after a family dinner. We got into our separate cars and I watched my mom and Oliver painstakingly walk into the backyard for what I knew would be the last time. I felt so sad for my mom, knowing these were her final hours with her best friend. In the car on the way to park, Finn composed a song about losing his best “furry friend” as he tried to make sense of his grief. He’s known Oliver, or “Olls” as he calls him, his whole life and losing him is confusing and hard for a six and a half-year old.

I really thought that at some point in the night Oliver would pass on his own. But when I checked my phone at 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6, my mom had not contacted me. I got up, went to my dance class shift, and headed over to her house to sit with her and Oliver while we waited for the vet to arrive. We circled through the feelings as we petted him. He couldn’t get up. He hadn’t really eaten in a day and barely drank any water. He could barely lift his head and his breathing was worse. It was painful to see him in that state and as much as I didn’t want him to go, I was anxious for the vet to arrive to help him end his suffering. I do believe he was hanging on for my mom. He was incredibly loyal and such a sweet love of a dog. He needed someone to help him let go because he’d never leave her given the choice.

I’ve never bore witness to a pet’s passing. I’ve lost pets but I’ve never been strong enough to take them through their final moments. As scared as I was to be there, I knew I needed to do it for my mom and for Oliver. It was as peaceful as it could be given the circumstances. They gave him the first shot right there in my mom’s house on the floor he’d spent countless hours sleeping on. My mom and I petted him and cried as we told him we loved him, that he was a good boy, that we were so sorry he had to go. Then they gave him the second shot and it was pretty quick before he stopped his labored breathing and rested his head on his paws.

My poor mom, lying there on the floor crying into his big head, just broke my heart. He was her first dog she got all on her own. He was with her all the time and everywhere she looks, there is a memory of him. She lives alone now and the emptiness left from his passing is tangible in that house. I spent the afternoon with her there after they took him out on a stretcher, just talking or crying or laughing when we could. It was the hardest thing for me to leave her there, knowing she’s in pain and feeling that hollowness of loss.

Sweet Oliver on his final day.

Where there is love, there is heartbreak. But the love part is so worth the pain of loss, isn’t it? We were so lucky to have Oliver as part of our family. We will miss his big sweetness and boisterous affection. We will miss the way he kept my mom company and ran out to greet us whenever we’d come over. We’ll miss him and love him, always.

I hope he and my sweet Lou are playing in the ocean together like the good old days, wherever they are.

Walking Around in My Wrongness

The only control is surrender. -Daily Om

Lately (my whole life?) I’ve been really struggling with my need to control everything- how I feel, how others feel, what happens next. I’m simultaneously hyper-aware that I logically cannot control these things while knowing that I am, indeed, feeling the strong need to be in control. I’m at that crux where I know a thing I’m doing doesn’t work for me/my life but I don’t know yet how not to do it.

I am very uncomfortable in the crux.

I’ve been a hiatus from therapy for a couple weeks. I left my last session feeling like I didn’t know what I wanted from our sessions. It was a rough hour where I spent a good deal of it avoiding my therapist’s eyes and emotionally beating myself up. I’m wrestling with a lot of internal stuff that I can’t eloquently explain. There are things about me, characteristics or faults, that work for me in certain circumstances but also bite me in the ass a lot of the time. Sometimes I get in an indignant rage saying: THIS IS WHO I AM! THE WORLD NEEDS PEOPLE LIKE ME! People who are not carefree, who don’t even understand that state of mind. People who will take the lead when everyone is faltering. People who will organize chaos. People who want to feel useful, not get the free ride. People with fierce loyalty and an unwavering sense of fairness. In many instances, I don’t mind these qualities in myself. Hell, sometimes I’m downright proud of them. But they also exhaust me. I put too much of myself into situations that don’t necessarily require it. I often feel under-appreciated and many times, unlovable.

I am extremely uncomfortable knowing people don’t like me or are unhappy with me. It’s a very triggering place that makes me feel small and all my shame comes bubbling up. I spent a good deal of my childhood wondering what I did wrong. When I couldn’t come up with an answer from any adults, I assumed that just being me was the problem. Did you hear that? BEING ME WAS WHAT MADE ME WRONG. That’s a hell of a pill for a kid to swallow. And yet, I did. I made the pill and I swallowed it whole.

So here I am, on the precipice of turning forty, and I’m still feeling that wrongness about myself. I can name multiple situations just this week where my feelings of shame and wrongness have overtaken me. Old stuff, new situations- doesn’t matter. I can and do let them all walk over me. Oh I talked too much about my wedding and hurt people’s feelings who were not invited (I was called self-absorbed, among other things) so I felt (still feel!) like I did something wrong by finally being happy. Oh I showed up for my dance studio trade shift to find a new crew member was there to do my job so I was left with no work and feeling like I didn’t belong, that I wasn’t wanted. Oh I saw something about an ex on line that made me question everything he’d put me through for years so I felt like a chump, a fool, and easily forgotten. There are deeper stories to all of these but I’m afraid to share them in detail. You know, because I’ve convinced myself I’m so wrong.

I’m in a beat up place, you guys. I’m a total hard ass so I don’t expect I’ll ease up on myself very readily. But I needed to say this aloud, with witnesses. I walk around in my wrongness and that’s just wrong.

Welcoming 2013

2012 was my most over-achieving year: Engagement, house buying, moving, leaving the apartment manager gig, cervical cancer, two surgeries, our wedding, Mexico honeymoon, hosting holidays in our new house. . . I think it’s safe to say that I’m ready for some calm.

My relationship with time has really shifted this year. I’ve spent hours turning into days in agony at its slow crawl and minutes turned to hours that whizzed by where all I wanted in the whole wide world was to hold onto the moment a little longer.  I’m turning 40 this year and the thought of it stirs both fear and excitement up inside me. I am so well aware that time is precious, that MY time is fleeting, and never before have I wanted to slow down and really enjoy it. No longer do I feel the rush to do, do, do but rather to sit peacefully in the life I’ve created and witness it mind, body, and soul.

Since 2007 I’ve set an intention for my new year and recapped goals I’ve set here on this blog. (Six years!) There was my year of acceptance, then gumption, of putting myself first, and then of letting go, of light, and last year’s openness. 2012′s intention was on target for what I ended up needing the most. I made myself open to love (getting engaged, planing a wedding, getting married, letting people show up for me in a scary time), to fear (finding out I had cervical cancer, subsequent surgeries, the possibility of never having a child with Mr. Darcy), and to joy (my wedding day was the happiest day of my life, finding out they removed all the cancer and we have the chance to try to have a baby, buying a house). There was a time when I was very closed off to happiness and 2012 showed me that I’ve opened myself and my heart up to feeling all the feelings.

It’s interesting to see myself getting older and how things that once were so important to me- like having New Year’s Eve plans or being at my thinnest or having a long list of goals to achieve- no longer feel like priority to me. I don’t need to be first, to be best, to be always striving for the top and the accolades. I don’t need everyone to like me or put on a brave face. I just need to be me- imperfect, flawed, unique. And being me, settling in and trusting ME, is work enough most days.

So what do I want to do with 2013 after a banner 2012?

The Intangibles

• be present to my life
• enjoy quiet
• simplify
• cultivate joyful togetherness
• listen deeply, especially to myself
• give myself permission to slow down
• soften the hard angles inside me
• exercise compassion and tenderness

The Tangibles:

• the most important one that trumps all that follow: GET PREGNANT
• road trip to California
• spend a weekend at Doe Bay with friends
• go snowshoeing
• plant a herb garden (and try not to kill it)
• read a book a month
• host a semi-regular game night
• celebrate my 40th birthday
• meet with a financial planner
• add walks to my exercise routine
• continue making our house a home
• spend a weekend at the ocean
• learn to play an entire song on the guitar and post a video of me performing it
• finally launch Jubilation (my event planning business)

My intention for 2013 is: EASE.

Sounds too easy, right? But it’s what I need to get better at. I’m really good at planning, doing, and achieving. I excel at being hard on myself, pushing myself to extremes, and avoiding appreciation, intimacy, and good feelings. I’d like my focus in 2013 to be on easing up on myself, on compassion, and softening. I’ve lived my life with rigidity and fear and it does not serve me anymore. So here’s to greeting 2013 and turning forty with grace and gratitude.

What are you hoping for in 2013- tangible or intangible?

Both Sides Now

It takes me a while to trust good news- like I can hear it but my heart doesn’t register it. I go along with the motions of elation hoping I will truly feel the joy. I’m just not that good at being in the happy yet but I’m practicing all the time. There is always good news to discover it’s just that sometimes you have to seek it out.

Life’s ups and downs are so obvious to me lately. I live in the sharp rise and fall of my life. In just this last week I’ve received the good news from the doctor; a very old man driving a boat of a car unknowingly hit my car while I pumped gas and then drove off leaving me fuming and my car dented; I volunteered at The Nutcracker a just days after the Newtown tragedy surrounded by little kids dressed up in sparkly dresses and ties with excitement beaming off their sweet faces; and we were told that the still-wet basement that is going to take longer and cost more to fix than first anticipated. . .

I’ve been deep inside myself lately, trying to sort out my year. It’s been a wild ride – so many highs and lows. I’m hoping I’m on the part of the ride that levels out after all the fast-paced racing around tight corners and the giant falls from great heights. The wind still whips my hair as the ride makes it slow finish to the end. There’s a smile on my face, my heart is racing, and I’m wanting to ride again.

So I’m quieter than usual, especially in this space. When I find the words, I’ll visit.

I hope your holidays are merry and bright. Hug everyone a little longer and smile as much as you can.