Election Day!

I paid a much-needed visit to Town Hall today.

“Hi,” I said a little shyly to the clerk. “I know I may be too late to register, but I’m relatively new to town and wanted to vote.”

The clerk was amazingly nice, considering she lived in Connecticut. “Of course, sweetie! What district do you live in?”

“Uh—I’m not sure.”

“Let me call the Registrar of Voters. They’re next door.”

“That’s really nice of you to call.”

“No problem!”

Moments later: “Hello, yes. I have a lady here who wanted to vote…no, she isn’t registered in town yet….right…she doesn’t know where she lives.”

Didn’t know where I lived? I started chuckling. It’s true I once got lost returning to my apartment in New Haven a few years ago. And, yes, I just admitted that.

Today my location is easy to get to, at an address that isn’t on an actual street. Many condominium complexes list addresses on faux roads off the main drag. (After all, “Sunshine Glen” sounds far prettier than Industrial Avenue).

The clerk returned. “Where about do you live?” Out of habit, I offered my address. The woman’s face, of course, went blank. I quickly told her the cross street and the name of my complex.

The clerk returned to the phone, coming back a few minutes later. My district was irrelevant. Voters have to register in their new town at least two weeks before Election Day. I wasn’t able to vote, but the clerk jotted down the Secretary of State Office’s website. Back at home, I hopped on the web, visited the site, printed and filled out the form and mailed it. Done!

Since registering to vote ten years ago, I’ve voted in almost every election, including the presidential election last year. During my fulltime reporter years, election night was always fun to cover. I remember staking out the polls for hours, gathering quotes from voters and politicians. I remember the behind-the-scenes details of every player, every political “upset,” that, on the inside, was rarely surprising at all. No matter how apathetic we feel, or how busy, I believe it’s our responsibility to educate ourselves on candidates and be a part of the democratic process. So while I didn't vote this year, I certainly tried. Now I'm all set for our next election!

My family, in the meantime, will be pleased to learn I returned to my traditional roots today. I changed parties for the second, and, I’m sure, final, time. The older I’ve gotten, especially since becoming a homeowner, the more fiscally conscientious I’ve become. My politics reflect that.

How about you? Did you vote today? Is your political affiliation similar to everyone else in your family?

The Link Between Lust And Love

In the beginning of Woody Allen’s Match Point, a tennis ball freezes in time over the edge of a net. With a bit of luck, the ball will fall forward and the player will win. However, there is equal chance the ball will drop backwards to inevitable loss. Life itself is the metaphor. While contemporary philosophers like Malcolm Gladwell (Tipping Point) have written about the power of circumstance, rarely has a film so perfectly captured the tenuous core of human nature.

Match Point is the story of a man torn between love (in the form of an adoring wife) and lust (in the form of a tempestuous mistress). Yes, it’s literally that Shakespearean. Each scene is a volley between shifting power plays: the carnal-crazed protagonist cools toward his increasingly needy mistress. The sweet, albeit slightly vacuous, wife becomes a shelter against his emotional storms.

As I watched, I began to wonder about the link between lust and love. We often hear about the storied “love at first sight,” although more seem to experience “lust leading to love.” Lust is also commonly mistaken for love. Just as typical, however, is the surprise of finding lasting love from seemingly fleeting sparks.

Age-old advice recommends finding a mate who is your best friend. The pursuit catches fire with a mutually strong physical attraction. Is it possible to find friendship in a relationship driven by lust? Of course, but a relationship driven by friendship is ultimately far less dangerous. Lust can easily die; friendship—and love—is what endures.

Is the link between love and lust, then, friendship? I believe it’s actually an element more specific: compassion. Compassion is the caring that connects lust and love together. It’s the sensitivity providing equilibrium. Without compassion, neither love nor lust can survive. With compassion, we can salvage broken relationships, foster new friendships and forge fresh beginnings. With compassion, we can trust each other to communicate openly to conquer challenges before they create distances too great to reduce. Match Point is markedly devoid of compassion. Fortunately, most real-life people use compassion to manage their shortcomings.

Psychologists believe we choose friends and lovers with characteristics we wish to emulate. I recently acquired a new perspective on this. A friend is reading a book suggesting we often choose partners who view us the way we view ourselves. The concept is “mirroring.” For example, if we are judgmental we tend to draw partners who may unfairly judge us. It may seem paradoxical; however, we often reject behavior we exhibit ourselves.

I believe a steady commitment to living with compassion can release us from these old judgments. Passion, including lust, may be reckless and primitive. Developing “conscious passion,” however, is living with compassion. Living compassionately, in fact, is perhaps the greatest passion we could ever keep.

Confessions of a Would-Be News Anchor

Almost ten years have passed since the afternoon my Introduction to Public Speaking professor approached me after class. “So!” he boomed, waxy lips pulled back in a lazy grin. “What kind of career are you thinking about?”

“Television,” I answered immediately. “Broadcasting.”

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat as he hesitated. “You…have to be pretty to be a news anchor.”

My skin burned with shame.

I always said I liked newspapers because print journalism allows a reporter to develop a story more deeply than even the best newscast. During an internship that summer at a local newspaper, I wrote a weekly column, “Musings of a Media Hound.” While the sting of the professor’s words still hurt, my bio still included a plan to “be the next Oprah.”

Over the next few years, however, something got lost in translation. Despite my potential, I held myself back believing I wasn’t pretty enough, smart enough or, in essence, good enough. While I understood life included disappointment and rejection, I ultimately began to believe the negativity until I became a negative person I no longer recognized.

Once I realized I was lost, I worked to reclaim the person I was, the person with ambition and dreams. I saw how my lack of belief in myself changed others’ belief in me. You cannot build a relationship with someone else when you’re working from a foundation comprised almost entirely of the relationship itself, used as a status symbol, an affirmation of self-worth.

I have learned no matter where I am in life, regardless of where I work, what I do, or whom I choose to be with, my worth is internal. I do wish to have a family of my own someday. I want to write books people can relate to. I want to be the best woman I can possibly be.

As we build ourselves into better and stronger people, how can we combat the rejection that makes us feel inadequate and replaceable? The answer is simple, and often challenging to sustain. No matter what, we must remember we are always good enough. We may blame others for holding us down, but it’s really our self-doubt keeping us moored in the mud of our mistakes.

We should also refrain from jumping to conclusions or making assumptions about others or ourselves. I frequently used to assume the worst. Now I usually assume the best. Life, however, isn’t about success or failure.

It’s about growth and the proverbial journey.

After all, to borrow an apt cliché, beauty lies in the eye of the beholder.

Surprise!

I’ve been feeling rather nostalgic lately, reviewing my past with much more appreciation than regret. It’s autumn, my favorite season. It’s also Halloween time. I love the holiday’s sense of fun and excitement, the idea that anything (or anyone) can literally pop out of nowhere.

My Most Terrified Pop-Out Moment (oh, that sounds wrong!) occurred when I was six-years-old trick-or-treating with a neighborhood pal, Jon (I wish I could find him on Facebook)! I remember I was Snow White that year. I think Jon was a pirate. We decided to visit our neighborhood's premier haunted house, decked out with fake gravestones, cobwebs and scary music.

Sitting motionless on the house's (fake) blood stained front porch was a werewolf of dubious origin. Was he real? I remember Jon going up the stairs first, holding my breath as I crept behind him. Suddenly the werewolf jumped to his full height, seizing Jon. I shrieked and almost fell off the porch. Jon wrenched free and half-ran, half-tumbled down the steps. I have a distinct memory of feeling vaguely proud as I managed to hold up my skirt, lady-like, to keep from tripping while I ran. My father, laughing, shouted at us to stop running. We watched him shake the werewolf's hand. A lot of extra candy was collected that night. ;) As we get older, we experience how life is full of surprises, both challenging and wonderful. We learn what at first seems scary often isn't at all.

Tonight I went on a ghost hunting tour in upstate Connecticut with two close friends from college, Kim and Kristen. As a kid, I devoured R.L. Stine books and anything I could get my hands on involving ghosts, witches and David Duchovny from the X-files. ;) In recent years, the interest waned under the more important focus of job security and mortgage payments. (God, I’m getting old). Nevertheless, I’ve always enjoyed history, psychology and the idea of the supernatural. A ghost hunting adventure potentially involved all three. My inner nerd rejoiced.

The tour itself was as fascinating as I’d expected. I took many decidedly unique pictures, several featuring strange colors and circles (known as “ectoplasm” and “orbs” among ghost hunting folk). The cemetery was bonafide creepy.

But the real surprise had nothing to do with the ghost tour or Halloween itself. It happened post-ghost hunting at a local Olive Garden we decided to hit for dinner. Somewhere between the breadsticks and the appetizer, Kim nonchalantly asked if we wanted to see her belated birthday present. (She recently turned 30).

We nodded.

Kim dramatically dropped an envelope stuffed with pictures on the center of the table. I plucked one up; it was the outside of a townhouse. Why was she showing us a picture of a condo? I couldn’t imagine her being ready to move. After college, she moved back with her family. She hadn’t seemed quite ready to leave, much to the well-meaning consternation of her dear friends. ;)

Then I heard Kim’s voice: “I’m closing on Thursday.”

Kristen and I stared at each other. My eyes filled with tears. I have never felt as fully happy for a friend as I did for Kim at that moment. Kim went on about the details, her voice filled with excitement and purpose. I was practically dancing in the booth and eventually darted out to the lobby to share the news with two mutual friends and even my parents.

I see Kim’s moving into the condo as a symbolic establishment of her growth as a person and independence as a woman. After years of renting, having my own condo has been a great blessing. It seems the more settled I've become in my home, the more settled I've become in my own skin. I look forward to Kim embarking on this similar journey. She deserves so much, and I know she will get there. Because she already is.

Yes, surprises are a good thing. Most of all when we surprise ourselves.

You Might Be A Douche If....

So this morning I turn on the computer and check my email. Surprise! Someone I dated back in 2007 indicated they were "interested" when I came up in their "Daily Five" on Match.com. How flattering. Now, anyone who knows me understands I'm a professional mushball. So it took a relatively high amount of estrogen for me to take a deep breath and say: "No." I blocked him. Yes! Progress.

Stepping into the shower, I thought of Jeff Foxworthy and mused "You Know You're A Douche If..."

Voila! Out came this list (the short version). ;) To be fair, I also included "You know You're A Crazy Bitch If..." because, let's face it, we all have our douche/bitch moments. Some a lot more than others. ;) But at the end of the day we're all human (again, some more than others). So...sit back...enjoy. After all, if we don't laugh at ourselves, we're gonna cork off a helluva lot sooner. Who wants that?

Life's too short, my dear peeps.

Humbly Yours,
Larissa



You Might Be A Douche If…..

Your Online Dating Profile….

….Features multiple pictures of yourself (a) shirtless, (b) making “hot” faces in six different self-portraits (c) with your ex-girlfriend and/or (d) current girlfriend (face conveniently blacked out).
….Boasts the headline: “I’m gonna jump you like a Spider Monkey!” (Oooh, I feel tingly already).
……Notes you drink “regularly.”

Your Idea Of Being A Catch Is……
….Keying a stranger’s car because they cut your friend off in the parking lot
….Bragging about the number of women you’ve “banged”
….Talking on the phone to a girl you’re seeing while you’re on a first date with someone else

Your Idea of Feminist Empowerment Is….
….Having your girlfriend pay for her own birthday dinner
….Asking your girlfriend for money to pay the insurance copay after you accidentally crash her car

Your Romantic Side Includes….
…..Admitting you’ve been to confession after having sex because you promised God you’d wait until marriage
…..Hiding your online dating profile so you can secretly “keep your options open” while you’re "with" someone
…..Asking someone out to a wine tasting in Manhattan….and telling another girl you’re dating it’s the reason you can’t make dinner tonight.
……Dumping your fiancé on national television so you can give the runner-up “a second chance”

You Might Be A Crazy Bitch If….

Your Online Dating/Internet Etiquette Includes….
…..Revealing every detail about your last relationship....and you haven't even met in person
….Asking your prospective boyfriend how many women he’s met online…and why he’s not dating them
….Insisting your boyfriend change his relationship status on Facebook ASAP because you’ve been seeing each other a whopping month

Your Idea Of Being A Catch Is……
…..Sexting your “good friend” while you’re on a first date to establish you’re “desirable.”
.…Revealing every detail about yourself in general, down to your bathroom habits. Because you want an “honest relationship.”

You Believe Chivalry is….
…..Making your guy pay for everything because you don’t expect anything less from a man who makes six figures

Your Romantic Side Includes…
…..Forbidding your boyfriend to speak to other women. Even if he’s a bartender.
…..Pretending you were struck with a potentially fatal illness to win sympathy so you can hang on to him longer
…..Trying to get pregnant while assuring him you’re on the pill
…..Getting hitched after a month (Here’s looking at you, Khloe Kardashian)


Anyone got anymore?? :)

The Muppet Show

Recently my dear coworkers found a picture of the Muppets and labeled each of us accordingly. We have our resident Fozzie Bear, Kermit the Frog, Beeker, Gonzo and even Oscar the Grouch. I was awarded the distinction of being Pepe the King Prawn. I don't know much about Pepe's personality, but I do have that hair first thing in the morning! All I need is a sex change! ;)

Thanks to the gang for starting my morning off with a smile.

I'm gonna start singing "Hustle & Flow." ;)

Judging a Book By Its Cover

Tuesday night I saw two of my favorite authors, Jennifer Weiner and Candace Bushnell, catching up like old friends onstage. Weiner is a bestselling “chick-lit” novelist. (I'm in queue position 5,678 at my local library for a copy of Weiner's latest, Best Friends Forever).  Bushnell’s 1996 novel Sex and the City became the basis of a bonafide cultural phenomenon. Touted as a conversation on the creative process, self-esteem, “and of course, shoes,” I couldn’t wait to see the two seeming polar opposites connect.

I arrived in the city about an hour before showtime. Climbing out of the subway, I spotted Sebastian, the high school lothario from Bravo’s NYC Prep. He was loitering on the corner of Lexington and 86^th with a nymph-like blonde. I watched him grab her ass, squeezing as if he was testing a ripe melon. She giggled appreciatively. I marveled at how puny he was in real life. He caught me staring and gave me his trademark dead fish look. I averted my eyes and tried not to laugh. So much for getting an autograph.

The crowd at the 92^nd Street Y, of course, was predominantly young women. Settling into the fourth row, I noticed two empty seats in the second one, directly across from the stage. Did I dare? There were no seating assignments. I took a deep breath. Once in elementary school a group of kids literally pushed me to the ground to reach the ice cream truck faster. For much of my life I’ve held back. It was time to move forward. “Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?” I asked the portly man in the second row aisle seat. “Nope,” he grunted, getting up and letting me slide past.

And that’s how I ended up sitting two seats down from the Antichrist--cleverly disguised as a grandmother.

The evening began innocently enough. Jennifer is as effervescent and witty as her novels, intelligent without being pretentious. Candace is fifty but looks thirty-five. As the discussion turned from child rearing to the pitfalls of Brazilian waxing, the deceptively cute grandma began rumbling like an impending earthquake. “Vaat is the purpose of this?” she muttered, vicious as a wet cat. “I thought this was Sex and the City!” In addition to looking like Dr. Ruth Westheimer, she had the sex doctor’s thick accent down pat. It was official. I was sitting next to Dr. Ruth’s Evil Twin. Four different women shushed her. I wondered if the staff was going to kick her out.

The Twin raised a tiny gnarled fist. “Hellooo!” she shouted, waving her bejeweled hand. “I thought this was SEX. AND. THE. CITY!” There was a precious moment of stunned silence. Candace began stammering about how there would be Sex and the City “a little later.” Jennifer pointed out the title of the discussion was actually about friendship and writing. The Twin left in a copiously perfumed huff. The room exploded into applause.  

Moments later, listening to Jennifer reflect on the value of “women supporting women,” I thought how deceiving images could be. A sweet grandmother looking type, for example, could turn out to be Satan. Hailed as a patron saint of the sexually empowered woman, Candace was slightly reserved and almost shy in person. One of my favorite moments was when Candace discussed her fascination with the different ways people use the cards they’re dealt. Sometimes we spend so much time wishing we had someone else’s Ace of Spades we miss our own Ace of Hearts. Candace also has a wicked sense of humor. One of the book ideas her publisher rejected involved a status-chasing couple losing their child to sudden death because of their frivolous ways.

Jennifer was gregarious throughout, joking on the struggles of becoming a writer (“Writing was the only thing I was good at.”). When she tells her mother Simon & Schuster is picking up her first novel, her mother asks what the title is.

“Um…Good in Bed,” Jennifer admits.

“Good and Bad?” her mother repeats.

The auditorium erupted in laughter.

I didn’t ask any questions during the Q&A period. I prefer to sit back and observe. I listened to a woman reveal how Jennifer and Candace’s books helped her through a difficult period in her life. Another woman seemed in awe of Candace and couldn’t understand why someone so attractive wasn’t more active in the Sex and the City television series and films. Though Candace was very involved in the television incarnation of her novel Lipstick Jungle, I get the sense she is as much an observer as the rest of us. She simply enjoys being a writer, not the founder of a cultural movement. Plus, she swears she can’t act.

I enjoyed the easy camaraderie of the evening (including The Twin, purely for entertainment purposes). I like to think of writers as observers, societal anthropologists if you want to get hoity-toity about it. ;) After all, we’re more comfortingly alike then we think. Underneath the images we create, we’re all just making the best of the cards we’re dealt. Want to be a published writer? Write about what you know. Write about what we all know. Write about us, the joys, the struggles, the heartbreaks, the redemption. Write, work hard, never give up and before long you may score the perfect hand.

'Sex and the City' Author Lecture

So on Tuesday, Sept 8 I am thinking about attending a lecture featuring two of my favorite writers, Jennifer Weiner (author of Good in Bed, as well as scores of other bestselling chick-lit) and Candace Bushnell (creator of Sex and the City).

It starts at 8:15pm. Tix are $27:

http://www.92y.org/shop/event_detail.asp?productid=T-LC5CA17&xAd=rss_T-LC5CA17&rss=Lectures_and_Conversations_T-LC5CA17

If you're in the area and love these ladies as much as I do, you should definitely go! :)

All A-Twitter

I recently decided to experiment and join Twitter. (I'm also on Facebook).

You can "follow" me at http://www.twitter.com/larissalytwyn

Hmm...I think I just joined so I could say I "Tweet."

During my brief days here, the one thing to note is the high number of celebrities on this site. The Hollywood mystique of old has been replaced with a "letting-it-all-hang-out" relatability.

For example, Sen. John McCain's daughter frets about using her hotel pool because of her bootylicious bottom being captured by a pap's unforgiving lens. And so on.

....Anyone a faithful twitterer? Do you like it? Hate it?

For Love or for Money?

Does society celebrate women who pass up the boys with the big bucks for the boys-next-door? According to the authors of Smart Girls Marry Money: How Women Have Been Duped Into the Romantic Dream and How They’re Paying For It,  women are sacrificing practical notions like economic security for the flowery promises of “for richer or poorer.”

Therefore, the authors encourage women to find a Mr. Right with a sizeable bank account. I was surprised a book like this exists. In a world where the girl gets Mr. Big and Goldman Sachs bails us out of a recession, I believe we’re more status-conscious than ever before. The pursuit of riches has always been society’s Golden Calf, and, unfortunately, our values have tended to follow the money.

Recently a coworker suggested the benefits of marrying for wealth. “You need a sugar daddy!” she laughed. “No way,” I chuckled. Sugar daddies aren’t practical. They’re a form of entrapment. I’ve always taken pride in supporting myself, even while making a sub-living as a fulltime journalist. At one point I moved back home for several months to save up so I could move out again. Once I found a well-paying job in aviation, freelancing on the side, I rented a cheap apartment. I continued saving until I was able to buy a condo (albeit with the help of a first time homebuyers’ grant and a little support from my family). It may seem hypocritical to talk about being independent and in the next sentence write about my parents helping me. However, I believe there is a huge difference between someone offering to help you and expecting someone to.

My family knows I am sincerely appreciative of everything they’ve done. I have used their support as a "stimulus package," you could say. Because of their past assistance, I am now completely financially independent. Though I'm not able to save or travel as much as I'd like, I live comfortably within my means.

Nevertheless, I realize living independently can sometimes come at the cost of dreams. One of my high school classmates recently blogged on how she related to the “Smart Girls” message. She wants to afford a certain lifestyle. But should her goal be dependent on someone else? Another blogger vilified her for being a gold digger. This wasn’t a very kind or fair assessment. (The blogosphere can be so merciless)!

But, hey, life has a way of throwing out curveballs. It’s the very reason I want to stay as fiscally autonomous as possible. Fortunes can turn in an instant, especially in this economy. While I appreciate a person with passion and ambition, I don’t judge them for their vocation or the size of their bank account. As a writer, I’ve done everything I can to make ends meet. I simply expect someone to work hard, too.           

Having a relatively traditional world-view, I’m also a great fan of chivalry. I appreciate gentlemen who open doors for women and offer to pay for dinner. I don’t view chivalry as an anti-feminist means for dependency. It’s simply a form of respect. In the same way, I also believe it’s important for women to pay sometimes, too. After all, relationships are about equitable partnership.

So taking an extreme view on reasons to marry can be illusive. Aren’t we in this together? What about love? Commitment? What if things change? At the end of the day, as long as the bills are being paid (in a legal and morally upstanding way, of course), ;) what does it matter? Besides, money doesn’t always stay and love doesn’t always last. If we don’t learn to rely on ourselves, our debts to someone else will always be bigger in the long run.

Is Giving Up Something Giving Up Yourself?

Have you ever been in a situation where you felt the other person wasn't trying hard enough? I think we all have. The reason it bothers me so much is because I often don't try hard enough myself. I realized this over a steak dinner I made for my parents tonite (that's me earlier with Mom).

I once had a "grass is greener"  mentality. I once felt if I were in a "better position" I'd instantly be happier. Yes, happiness was a destination, not a journey decreed by a bumper sticker. As I've noted in previous posts, it took reaching a certain pinnacle: good job, home ownership and a very special someone--to realize there was still something missing. Me. I was gone, somehow. I mean, I was there in bits and pieces. But I wasn't whole the way I used to be. Something had gotten lost.

Fast forward six months to now. I've pretty much changed my life, and the way I did it wasn't just about external change. It was about consistently changing my attitude. Real change happens from the inside out. Sure, there's always room for improvement. But overall, I'm happy again. Tonite's meal reflected that.

When I was a kid, I was a true meat-and-potatoes girl. I loved hot dogs and cake and ice cream. My childhood supper of choice was steak, mashed potatoes and corn. I remember sliding a thick slab of butter in the center of a creamy mountain of spuds, scooping up a giant forkful and dipping it into the molten butter-pool. Slowly, I would raise the fork to my lips. Heaven.

But as years passed, I began rejecting fatty foods, and, by proxy, other things. Fortunately, more recently, my healthy eating habits have been healthily punctuated by the occassional pizza or steak dinner. I've become more honest with myself, and that means being a girl who loves red meat every once in a while. And then some!

As a result, I'm more honest with my parents. (There is a difference between openness and honesty. We are sometimes too open to try to conceal being honest. It's best to be honest first and open second).  Tonite I addressed their concerns over my fair number of guy friends, especially those with girlfriends. "But don't you think..." they often say, eyebrows raised. Being an only child, however, I've often defined my friends by sibling roles. Over the years I've adopted at least three surrogate brothers.

One's crashed at my condo twice. In both cases it was getting late; in at least one case he'd had a bit too much to drink. So I lent him my couch, blanket and pillow, no questions asked. In the morning he took a shower and we shared breakfast. When I told my parents, their mouths went agape.

"Are you sure there isn't more there?" Mom probed.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I decided to have some fun. "Well," I said. "I tried picturing being with him in the shower. And I just couldn't do it."

"TMI!" Mom shrieked while my father turned progressively ashen. Believe me, I never would've let my friend sleep over if I suspected either of us had romantic feelings. Nevertheless, I understood where my parents were coming from. I can be very trusting and haven't always made the best choices. But as I've learned from my mistakes, I've become more confident in my decisions. I'm not afraid to fail. I'm afraid of failing to grow.

So it was incredibly fitting my parents and I dined on sirloin steak, oven-baked potato and corn this evening! I made it on my recently purchased (and quickly indispensable!) George Foreman grill. The next time I start thinking about giving up something, I'll remember what I'm potentially risking: giving up myself. Growth, after all, isn't always about changing. It's about remembering, too.

Dog Days of Summer

Today I had to make a difficult phone call. I turned down an opportunity to adopt a rescue dog. Growing up, my family always had cats. Later we began raising chickens, ducks and geese. During my apartment-renting days I had cats, parakeets and at one point a rabbit.

Having settled into my condo, I thought it would be a good time for a four-legged companion. This time, it would be of the canine variety. I wanted the companionship. I wanted to meet more of my neighbors, many of whom are dog-owners. This week I contacted a local shelter to find out more about Sadie, a beautiful Corgi/Beagle mix. Sadie was pending adoption; nevertheless the handler introduced me to her. She was affectionate but also very rambunctious and barked a lot.

"I think you'll enjoy meeting Sasha," the handler said. "She's very mellow." Sasha was a four-year-old Yellow Lab mix, only about 30 pounds and sweet as pie.

"She's very quiet," I said approvingly. (I'd hate to bother my neighbors with excessive yapping...from dogs, at least). When she lifted her paw to shake my hand, I just about melted into the grass. "You know how they say dogs look like their owners?" asked the handler. I nodded, amused by the selling point. "Well, in the sun your hair matches her coat!" My red hair gets blonde highlights in the summer and can look almost golden yellow in the sun. Sasha's coat was the same way.

Her name was uncanny. For a short time, my family owned a dog named Sasha. I was eleven and dreaming of a puppy. During our visit to an animal-rescue organization we met one who squirmed right out of my arms. I dropped her, almost head first, on the floor! (Luckily, I've never done that with baby people). The official reason for turning us down, however, was on our application. My parents indicated we'd keep the dog in a doghouse. Not primarily, of course. But my parents didn't really agree with the idea of animals living in a house 24/7 with people. Our cats had all been indoor/outdoor. Hell, we raised farm animals!

A few weeks later my father and I impulsively picked up one of several puppies being given away for free in our neighborhood. We christened her "Sasha." Puppies, of course, need a lot of attention. I remember how it seemed Sasha would never stop barking, whining or otherwise crying. For various reasons, the responsibility of raising Sasha got to be too much. Especially after she pooped on my mother's white couch. So, about a month after we adopted her, we gave her to a shelter with high hopes she'd be adopted quickly. I'm sure she was.

Now, 16 years later, I stood in the doggie yard with Sasha 2.0:

I could easily picture myself walking her, rubbing her belly, reading with her at my feet. All I needed was a pipe and a roaring fireplace. But the practical part of me didn't think it was fair for Sasha to be alone ten hours a day while I worked five days a week. I thought about the cost of boarding her if I traveled. I thought about bringing her to the vet for expensive routine checkups. I thought about her shedding on the expensive couch my mother helped buy me as a housewarming present. And I began having second thoughts.

My parents, meanwhile, acted as though I were threatening to shoot heroin.  "DON'T DO IT!" my father begged on the phone. "I mean, it's your place, you can do what you want. But it's not a good idea." I could hear my mother clucking in agreement in the background. Their biggest concern was financial (not to mention the potential impact on my thick white carpets). It's true I have a steady, decent-paying job. But while I earn enough money to pay my mortgage and bills, I don't have a lot of extra money to save--or spend. Acquiring a dog would make any potential savings nil.

So, this afternoon, I gave Sasha 2.0's handler my decision. Though I couldn't make the ownership commitment, I volunteered to walk Sasha on Saturdays. I also promised to do my best to help find her a home.

In the meantime, I'm considering adopting a hedgehog (aka "Hedgies"). Note this round cutie from Connecticut's own  Hedgehog Welfare Society:

No shedding, no potential allergic reactions and no walking! ;) There's also always fish....and, once I patent the invention of a chicken diaper, indoor barnyard pets...

Incident-al Growth

It all started with the Chai Incident. I’m usually exceptionally nice when I’m out and about, engaging waiters, bartenders and baristas with equal warmth. The Chai Incident was a jarring exception. It happened this past winter. I happened to be craving a Starbucks chai latte like a baby craves warm milk. Yes, the extreme metaphor is intentional. Because when I learned they were out of chai, I acted like a complete infant.

“What?!?” I barked. “You don’t have CHAI? That’s like a McDonald’s not having FRENCH FRIES!” In retrospect, I was so over-the-top it was almost comical. But it certainly wasn’t funny to the cowering barista. It also wasn’t funny to my companion, who looked like he wanted to scramble under the counter and hide. “Do you want something else?” he asked instead.

I shot him a death glare. “No,” I snapped. “I want chai.” I could have had hot chocolate, a variety of teas or even coffee. But I wasn’t satisfied until we’d gone to another Starbucks and I’d gotten my beverage of choice.

While I realize my reaction was based in failed gratification, I’m still disturbed by its excessiveness. We live in a time in which technology hasn’t only made instant gratification possible….it’s made it the expectation. Need directions? GPS. Movie times? Blackberry. Future wife? Match.com. And so on. But as real life reminds us daily, there is no magic bullet against unhappiness or disappointment. We’re not infallible; how can life be? Sometimes happiness is simply making the best of our less-happy times. The Chai Incident forced me to reject my instant gratification tendencies. I’ve made progress.

One day after work last month I drove to the beach to take a walk. The beach, however, closes at sunset. Blocking my path was a man who made Archie Bunker look like Mr. Rogers. “You!” he rumbled, emerging from his vehicle. “You can’t park here! We’re closing!” Suspiciously, he wasn’t in one of the jeeps the patrolmen usually drive. I'd admittedly been on the cellie with Mom.

 “And you should get off that cell phone when you’re driving, too!” Super Archie screamed. “Er, Mom, I gotta go,” I said hastily. “Sorry. I’ll call you back.” By the time I looked back at Super Archie, I could feel the heat burning through my cheeks. Hackles rising, I was spoiling for a fight. “I see a lot of cars here,” I blurted, waving my hand vaguely to the cars peppering the lot.

“Yes,” Super Archie affirmed gruffly. “But they should be leaving soon, too.” I literally had to press my lips together—hard—to keep from responding. My heart slammed around in my chest. Thoughts pierced my mind like darts. Is he even for real? Who does he think he is? And the sun’s not even begun to set! Finally, I took a long, slightly shaky breath, and exhaled deeply. Okay, I concluded. Asshole on a power trip. Don’t give him more fuel. So I turned my car around and gave Super Archie what had to have been the fakest smile of all time. “Thanks!” I exclaimed. “I appreciate the heads-up! Have a fantastic evening!” And you know...he smiled back.

But the moment of truth, it seemed, came today. I was returning from a meeting in Hartford. Traffic was crawling. My head throbbed from a blossoming headache. The line of cars slowly moved forward. I eased ahead. Brake lights flashed. I slid to a stop. Glancing in my rearview mirror, I noticed a gray minivan coming toward me way too fast. He’s gonna hit me, I thought, rather matter-of-factly. I really think he’s gonna hit me. I heard the last-minute cry of brakes. And then, just like that, I felt the crunch of metal-on-metal. I lurched forward; fell back. Sighed. “This can’t be happening,” I muttered.

The driver got out of his car. He couldn’t have been more than twenty. To my disbelief, he was smiling. Smiling! He didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t apologize. He just grinned, smarmy. But anger, I realized, was useless. Instead, I inspected the damage. My bumper was pretty much hanging off the car. “Do you have insurance?” I asked. He showed me his insurance card. By the time the police arrived and a case report was made, more than an hour had passed. Fortunately I was close enough home to drive there safely. Once settled, I quickly got to work on making the necessary calls. I filed a report with my insurance company. I had my car towed to a body shop. I spoke to the adjuster assigned to my case. Best of all, I acquired a sweet-ass rental: an adorable, sky-blue 2008 PT Cruiser.

I’m really lucky everything went as smoothly as it did. Yes, even stressful situations can bring out the best outcomes, like cool rental cars. Coming from a long line of (similarly recovering) hotheads, it wasn’t always easy growing up. If blessed with a family of my own someday, I want to emphasize the importance of going with the flow. Most things in life don’t matter. We put so much focus on appearance and status and material possessions. We’re expected to have it all, and have it all now. But I want to someday tell my son or daughter that so much of that is ephemeral. It's certainly never a means to justify a bad attitude. Behaving disrespecfully, even when seemingly warranted, is never a wise course of action. It creates an even more hostile environment and debases us to our protagonist’s level, whether it’s an ornery old man or a blasé teenager.

I still think about the Chai Incident. Recently I went by that Starbucks and actually checked who was working. I still remember the girl’s face. I figured I’d buy her a chai latte. Then again, it’s doubtful she’d recognize me. So I’d probably just buy anything but a latte. And be extra nice.

Getting Past Your Past

I found an excellent resource for people grieving the loss of a relationship. This is also useful for people moving forward from any kind of loss, be it the loss of a job or the loss of a cherished pet. While there is no "right" or "wrong" way to mourn, there are ways to make the journey healthier and yes, downright empowering!

Yesterday, perusing an outdoor book vendor near Central Park, I found "Getting Past Your Breakup: How to Turn A Devastating Loss Into the Best Thing That Ever Happened to You." The author, Susan J. Elliott, also has a blog, Getting Past Your Past: http://gettingpastyourpast.wordpress.com/.

For a long time I was looking for Mr. Right on the timing of Mr. Right Now. I've always been a traditional person who greatly values family. But I didn't recognize the process it takes to build the foundation you need to get there.

Following the amicable, mutual breakup with my college boyfriend after a four-year relationship, I jumped back into dating very quickly. After almost three years of being a serial dater, I went through an experience that made me realize I needed to use the time I'd spent focusing on relationships to focus more constructively on myself.

Reading Elliott's book reinforced the positive life choices I've since made. I've learned changing ourselves often isn't about changing who we are. It's about changing our point of view. In fact, it's about returning to the self we always were but somehow, along the way, lost faith in. Once we realize this we can, like the Phoenix, rise from the ashes to celebrate life in a whole new way.

Bringing Perspective to the One-Track Mind

A good friend of mine is struggling to find closure to a long-distance relationship that didn't survive the miles apart. When they met through work they seemed the perfect match. In fact, I used to joke they were "matching salt-and-pepper shakers." A week into their relationship he revealed he was going to graduate school, most likely at a university 3,000 miles away. Nearly a year later he moved cross-country. She helped him move, eventually planning to join him. In the meantime, she visited him monthly. Just as she finally began making serious steps toward moving, he said they should take a "break."

Understandably, she failed, as he put it, to "wake up" to his "wake up call." He wanted her there sooner. Relationships never work well on power struggles and ultimatums, however. Nonetheless, there is no greater heartbreak than losing the one we love. My friend retreated even further into her shell, a limbo of indecision. She is an intelligent, accomplished, attractive woman, and yet she seems in many ways plagued by fear and self-doubt.

Up until recently my friend and her ex still talked weekly, nearly two years after he moved. Finally, last week, he told her it was time for them to begin moving on. Part of me still wants her to move there for herself, but clearly it doesn't seem meant to be. As she slowly strives to move forward, I'm assuring her that letting go doesn't mean letting go of the beautiful promise their relationship once had. It doesn't mean anyone "failed," per se. It just wasn't, for a myriad of reasons, the right relationship at the right time. They were at different places in their lives.

I've found peace in realizing how much duality exists in relationships. We can still care about someone deeply but not be with them. We can still love someone and let them go. Moving on isn't forgetting what they meant to us. Our hearts are deep and capable of loving many people.

But these reflections can seem useless in the grip of heartbreak, which, in many ways, is a death. It's not only the death of the relationship, but the death of the person we once knew intimately. When we're grieving the death of a loved one, we often fear moving forward because we fear it'll mean we've forgotten them. But, of course, we never do. Likewise, we'll never forget someone who touched our hearts profoundly, whose grace and tenderness moved us to becoming better people.

As someone who becomes intensely dedicated to whatever passion I'm pursuing, be it my career, a hobby, or a relationship, I tend to develop a one-track mind. Fortunately, I've learned to let go. I realize I can still have a place for someone in my heart even though things didn't work out the way I'd hoped. Deep down, I still hold hope like a kind of eternal flame. But that flame is not about desperation or delusion. It is simply the acknoweldgement that past love can coexist with moving forward. I realize not everyone experiences love this way, or might not find this a good solution for them. But I suspect it may work well for a lot of people. I hope it works for my friend.

Balance is so vital to a healthy mind. I hope she realizes their relationship not working out is separate from the feelings they had. Sometimes other factors come into play. But to move forward, she must let go and realize love is sometimes truly about release. Besides, until we let go, we'll never be able to receive the future's gifts.  

In the meantime, we can still give ourselves permission to love and miss them. But we also know we must move forward to new places. Realize both, and we'll resist oscillating between denying our feelings and being consumed by them. Our flame might not ever burn out completely, but it will never engulf us, either. The passage of time, combined with the inner resolve to confidently evolve, can help us learn from the past to embrace the future we've dreamed of. 

Home Again

It took traveling 3,000 miles to remember I’d been home all along. Last week I returned from my Seattle business trip happier than I'd been in years. The best kind of change is often subtle, occurring in small but meaningful increments. There was nothing particularly memorable I witnessed out there. It was actually the reverse—the everyday, simple moments I rediscovered that drew joy.

I felt the difference the moment I landed at Sea-Tac Airport. Approaching the taxi kiosk I heard someone ask if I needed any assistance. (This isn't something you hear very often at JFK). Ten minutes later I was being whisked to my hotel in a Lincoln Town Car (surprisingly only slightly more expensive than a taxi).Watching the Evergreens flash by I had the strange sense I’d come home.

That night I had dinner with my friend, a graduate student at the University of Washington. Watching the sun slide behind Puget Sound, I felt a palpable excitement. I felt like a child again. Growth and progress, I realized, doesn't happen by moving away from the self. It occurs by returning to it.

Navigating downtown in my four-inch peep-toe heels, we noted how "New York" I looked compared to Seattle’s T-shirt-and-flip-flop clad populace. By the time I’d seen the University of Washington campus and finally my friend's apartment, I literally couldn’t walk. Collapsing into one of his chairs I declared I was a living example of a limp noodle. Though exhausted I was exquisitely happy.

Once recovered to the point I could stand again, my friend lent me his size 12 flip-flops. Gratefully jamming my heels into my oversized purse, I took a few careful steps toward the door. The flip-flops were about six sizes too big. I was amused again when I caught my reflection in my friend’s mirror. My hair was fantastically mussed, nearly completely out of its ponytail.  My mascara was smeared under my eyes like a linebacker. I looked like a cross between Pig Pen and Fester from the Addams Family.

“You know,” my friend teased. “You look a bit like the Walk of Shame.”

“Ha!” I barked. “In a few hours, I will be!”

He walked me to the bus station to catch the last bus of the night. I loved how the driver did a double-take. I decided it was the best double-take I’d ever gotten; much more fun than the “lookin’ good” ones.

The next day I treated myself to a massage. The hotel was renowned for its reasonably priced in-room spa specials and I couldn’t resist a deep-tissue treatment, particularly after my impromptu 5K the night before. My masseuse was a heavily tattooed African-American woman from New York City.

“Do you ever miss the East Coast?” I asked as she kneaded my back like dough.

“All the time,” she said.

“Really?” I replied, unable to mask the shock in my voice. “Why?”

“People are more straightforward,” she said.

“Like the way they flip you off at an intersection,” I cracked.

 “Exactly,” she affirmed, as if this were a good thing.

“But West Coast people seem more polite,” I argued.

In Seattle, everyone actually obeys traffic signals. In fact, they get upset when you start crossing the street early. But they don’t beep their horns. They just give you A Look. In fact, I didn’t hear a horn beep once my entire time in Seattle. (Apparently, heavy jay-walking fines also have something to do with it).

But my masseuse said West Coast people could be passive aggressive. “Too politically correct,” she clarified when I asked her to elaborate. But I’d rather be PC and polite than rude and insensitive. I decided I was going to meld the best of both coasts. We could be direct and well-mannered, too.

The next day I chose to take a bath instead of my usual shower. Sinking slowly into the tub, I wondered what had compelled me to take a bath for the first time since I was a kid. I realized I was returning to my core, stripping my past mistakes and dissapointments like old clothes. I was Humpty Dumpty put back together again. Happy adults are consistently in touch with their inner child. Most children, if brought up in a reasonably healthy environment, are innately happy. They’re natural explorers. They’re not afraid of taking risks because they’re not afraid of making mistakes. They’re not afraid of judgment. They live almost entirely in the moment. With a wave of utter contentment, I realized I was, too. “You sound more relaxed,” Mom noted later on the phone.

A few hours later I was in the hotel gift shop perusing little surprises for my family. I came across a box of polished stones with words like “Love” and “Loyalty” engraved in them. I closed my eyes and picked one up. The word on the stone was “Wisdom.” Yes, I thought. But what else? Then I spotted it. A purple stone revealing the word “Joy." Of all the emotions I’d felt recently, joy was the one I’d known most.

The next night, my final night in Seattle, my friend introduced me to Joy Laidback (spelled Laydback). “No seriously,” I’d said. “What’s really your last name?” Joy showed me her Driver’s license. “My parents were hippies,” she explained with a shrug. We took the bus to Capitol Hill and enjoyed a lingering dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant. Later we explored the playground at Volunteer Park. Once again I felt like a kid. I was even acting like one, going down the slide and using the swings. This sure beats Friday night drinks, I thought. 

One of the first things I did when I returned East was buy bubble bath. Indeed, home isn’t a place you look for but a place within us. Imagine living each day like a tourist. Life itself suddenly becomes a novelty. Imagine if we saw our towns and cities through the eyes of a first-time visitor. Imagine if we saw everyone, including ourselves, as a one-of-a-kind attraction.

Now discover the happiness in realizing we already are.

Westward Ho!!!

I'm delighted to be heading West in two weeks on a business trip to Seattle! It will be my first time visiting.  I'm looking forward to catching up with a friend attending grad school there.

A Connecticut native from relatively modest means, I never had the opportunity to travel much outside New England. Maybe I already considered myself lucky. Minus the the notorious East Coast 'tude, growing up 60 miles outside Manhattan has its perks. While I've enjoyed visiting and even working there, I'm glad I never made it my home.

I've always been drawn to the American West, conjuring visions of Dances with Wolves-era splendor, wild and uninhibited. I've always had a particular affinity for mountains. I've dreamed of seeing the Rockies.

But the travel itch didn't really begin, appropriately enough, until I started working at a cargo airline. In February I had the opportunity to travel on a business trip to Miami and later fly through Houston to land in one of my favorite new places: Anchorage, Alaska. Anchorage, I suppose, could be considered the far, far Northwest. (In fact, I think I spied Russia from my hotel room window)! Within ten minutes of hitting ground I spotted moose!

...Anyway, if anyone lives near the Space Needle and wants to chat over lattes at the original Starbucks, feel free to drop me a line! ;)

Tips on Happiness

Happiness, I've learned, isn't something that happens to us. It's a consistent choice we make daily. Sometimes our lives feel like rudderless boats at the ocean's mercy. After all, life can be unpredictable. It can be unfair. But the secret is we always have the ability to steer, even when we think we don't. While we may feel profound hurt and anger, we can always choose how we express those emotions.

Happiness isn't a magic bullet to protect us from pain and dissapointment. It's having the ability to cope with life's inevitable shifts, including our reactions to those shifts. Sometimes we mistake emotional distance for happiness. We glide along life's surface, resisting falling into the waves. We would rather stay on top than sink. But if we never swim, we never really understand the depths of our own emotions, and more importantly, each other's. We may watch someone drift away, refusing to talk about what's wrong until they reach a breaking point of no return.

Happiness is not denying pain. Happiness is not walking away from challenges to try to find that illusory perfect fit somewhere else. Happiness is about balanced thinking. It is impossible to be happy and strong and capable every moment of every day. In fact, we may even have weeks, months or years of sadness and struggle. We may make poor choices in how we we handle those dissapointments. But we can still forgive ourselves. We can still find faith in knowing the storms will eventually pass. And we can always find happiness in the breaks between the storm clouds if we look hard enough.

In one of my favorite films, City Slickers, Curly says the secret of life is 'one thing,' one thing we stick to "and the rest don't mean shit." Curly's 'one thing' was being a cowboy. My 'one thing' is writing. It's so vital to find an outlet we can call entirely our own. Once we do, we'll better meet our own needs. We'll define our own happiness.

I enjoyed reading this  article. It's based on a Harvard case study originally conducted in 1937. Human nature hasn't changed much. ;) So...in Carrie Bradshaw-esque form, I had to wonder...do YOU have any tips on how to sustain happiness, especially during the "tough times," like a death in the family, job termination, etc.?

Looking forward to hearing your thoughts! :)

New Relationship? Keep Zen.

I realized there isn't a lot out there on what to do once you're in a brand-new relationship, especially if you haven't been in one in a while.

Essentially, how do you not screw it up?

Here are my conclusions:

1.) It's (Always) Still New
So you met someone you're instantly smitten with. They're smart, funny and have the same goals and values you do. You call Mom somberly announcing: "I now understand what it means when people say they just know." Okay...back up. It's very exciting to meet someone you really like. But the moment we begin putting expectations on the relationship we sacrifice what it already is. Treat a relationship at any stage as if it's still the first few weeks. You'll be able to better appreciate each other.

2.) Keep It To Yourself
When we meet someone we really like, we tend to talk about them. A lot. Fast forward a few months and there's still that ache in your gut when someone asks how you two are doing and you mutter, "Oh, we broke up." Oops. The more we gush the more we build things up like a massive Jenga tower collapsing when it gets too high too fast.

3.) Become Emotionally Intimate Before You're Physically Intimate
While sex is an integral part of a healthy relationship, it should never be the foundation. Having sex within the first month or two quickly pushes the relationship to a new level, especially for most women. Men tend to explore while women commit. For example, a woman may think her new boyfriend could be the One. Meanwhile, the One is still viewing the relationship as something he's still trying out.

Women tend to view sex as "the next step," the confirmation of an exclusive relationship. Men view sex as, well, sex. Having sex too soon can rush the relationship to a place it's not ready to go yet.

4.) Just Let It
Preoccupation with status or labels ("The One") can be the death knell for any new couple. Avoid the "What Are We" talk for a few months (yes, months). If we "just let it," everything will evolve exactly as it should. Relationships should be self-evident.

5.) Keep Your Head
So things are going great. He surprised you by taking you to see your favorite band, bought you a dozen roses and treated you to an amazing night on the town for your birthday. You've shared cozy home-cooked dinners, favorite movies and inside jokes. Meeting each others' friends was an unabashed love fest. He regularly calls you amazing, intelligent and beautiful, whispers how he wants to make you happy, declares he wants to be your Rock and plans romantic getaways for two.

Suddenly you realize you're falling...hard. And you're scared senseless. Don't fear. Savor. Don't overthink it as anything more than what it is: someone who appreciates you exactly the way you deserve.

6.) Know the Now
We're all curious about our significant others' past relationships. We want to know what went wrong and what went right so we don't make the same mistakes. But often it's probably not wise to bring it up it all (even the "numbers" game). Our pasts are all unique. Everyone we've dated has their own personal histories. Don't talk too much about the past...or the future. The present is all we have.

7.) Give it Space
While everyone's precise needs and pace are unique, it's important to maintain physical distance. Refrain from seeing each other more than twice a week, especially if you're sleeping over. When you maintain high levels of autonomy, you'll be able to spend better quality time together. If the relationship truly becomes serious, consider keeping your own places until you're at least engaged, if not married.

8.) Wait To Say "I Love You"
There is no set rule on how long you should wait before saying "I love you." Some people feel it after a month. Others don't start to feel it for at least six months. Take your time. After all, words don't always define what "is." In fact, they may painfully define what isn't. Focus on content, not symbolism.

9.) Take Your Time To Meet the Parents
Tips to boyfriends: parents just want you to be affectionate and show a caring connection to their daughters. It's best to wait and make sure your relationship is strong so you can avoid having your mother say: "When I heard how excited you were I worried so much it wasn't going to work out. It was like you were a figure skater doing a triple axel and I was afraid you were going to fall." Ouch.

10.) Embrace The Big Three: Patience, Optimism & Communication
The foundation of a successful relationship requires The Big Three: Patience, Optimism and Communication. Each element must be embraced within before it can be applied to a relationship. Patient couples have the confidence to take it slow. Optimists maximize every moment as a fresh opportunity to learn. Good communicators embody openness, inner faith and trust in themselves and their partners to work problems out.

11.) The Best Baggage Is No Baggage
There's a great line from Rent's "La Vie Boheme" in which Mimi declares, "I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine." How about not having any baggage at all? If you have baggage from the past, whether it's a failed relationship or a job that didn't work out, you're going to carry its burden for a while. The best way to release it is to appreciate the past at its best and forgive the hurt caused along the way. After all, you can't sustain the Big Three if you have too much baggage weighing you down. Until you resolve those issues, you're not ready to have the relationship you deserve.

12.) Be Happy
"I am happy. I have everything I've ever wanted." Are we? Do we? The answer is we do the moment we acknowledge what we have, even if what we have at present is far from a lucrative career or the ability to travel or own a home. Circumstances can always change. We can't allow any one aspect of our life, whether it's a career or a relationship, become our singular focus. While it's far more challenging to choose happiness when we're feeling utterly failed, it's also far more rewarding. Sometimes there's more strength in letting go than holding on. When we choose happiness consistently, eventually our hearts will catch up.

Preventable Tragedy

Where were you when the King of Pop died? I was reading about Farrah Fawcett’s passing on E! Online’s website when I noticed a tweet by Perez Hilton. “Michael Jackson just died!” I announced. My coworkers popped like prairie dogs above their monitors asking for details. My supervisor (good-naturedly) kvetched, “Get back to work!”

But the media hound in me wasn’t about to give. (I’m a former newspaper reporter, after all). So I began scouring the web: CNN, FoxNews, HuffPo and People. While standard sources reported on Jackson’s cardiac arrest, the actual passing first broke on TMZ, a tabloid juggernaut of questionable accuracy and taste. But within the hour CNN’s coverage of Jackson’s coma-like state had segued into a remembrance tribute.

In his statement expressing his condolences, Sir Paul McCartney referred to Jackson as a “boy-man.” (He was similarly obtuse after John Lennon’s passing, later apologizing for quipping, “Well, that’s a drag, isn't it?”). But since I also have a penchant for expressing myself bluntly, I understand he's simply telling it like it is. And it’s true: Jackson was a boy-man.

As a child star he never had the opportunity to have a normal childhood. Subsequently, his life became a perpetual extension of one. While I don’t want to blame his sycophant handlers, his family or his superstar friends, I’ve got to ask: did anyone ever say, “Michael, you are mentally ill but it’s okay because we can help you?”

We tend to either deny psychological issues or use them to define us. But just as many people live with diabetes, many successful men and women live with varying spectrums of depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder and other illnesses. Despite being highly treatable, there is still a major societal stigma against mental illness.

When someone gets as famous as Michael Jackson, they’re considered more than human. And they’re often treated as less than one. Why do we either demonize someone as a narcissistic predator or revere them as a tragic hero? They are neither. As Deepak Chopra beautifully reflected, Jackson was  only human.  It’s strangely poetic our Peter Pan died before he got old.

Not Trying Hard Enough

Since the tabloids have turned John and Kate  into household names, I've been watching their show on TLC. Yes, in true bread-and-circus form, my interest wasn't piqued until rumours of marital discord began.  A record 9.8 million viewers tuned into the season five premiere.

I was underwhelmed watching episodes featuring Kate's birthday and even a dinner party hosted by Emeril Laggase. Aside from noticeable tension between John and Kate and a few choice scenes showcasing (yes, showcasing) their utterly adorable children, the show was, well, a little boring. (Ratings plunged, too).

Then I watched last night's episode announcing their separation. Not surprisingly, I was hooked. It wasn't the pain itself. It was that both John and Kate were at last authentic.

We watched Kate speak slowly about breaking down and her fears of raising eight children alone. She spoke pointedly about "her" children, avoiding the word "ours." She's gotten rather henpecked in the blogosphere as a fame-seeking, money-hungry shrew who exploits her children for profit. I'm simply struck by her similarity to the Annette Bening character in American Beauty. Her quest for perfection (though she might call it survival) seems never-ending.

In this period of soul-searching she remains aggressively positive. Doing anything less than starting a new chapter and moving forward would be admitting defeat. But is it really a case of win or lose? Kate seems very concerned with keeping up appearences. Did the realization of her fear of becoming a statistic undermine her commitment to her marriage, and ultimately, to her children?

I am not married, nor do I have children. But my own parents have stayed together 30 years. Some of those years were extremely volatile. But they seem to have made it. They're happier now than they were ten years ago. I've read a lot of comments about people wishing John and Kate tried harder, and I agree.

At the same time, I saw John's quiet, bitter disengagement. He is clearly gone. While women seem much more willing to discuss problems and work through them, men are more apt to let things accumulate to their breaking point and then leave. There is no room for negotiation. It's done.

Women are often warned against buying into a fairy-tale vision of "happily ever after." Men are not immune to this. It seems the moment something isn't perfect we up and leave for something (seemingly) better. But if we believe the One is made, not found, we're less likely to cut-and-run.

John admitted he wasn't a good communicator. His passivity and laidback attitude ultimately was a block, a defense against what he needed to talk about. What might have happened if he and Kate agreed not to do the show? (Kate still seems pretty intent on doing it, despite reports of TLC halting production). What if Kate had been nicer and more patient? What if John had been more present and engaged?

Of course, we can only know so much.

What do you think?

A Quick Word On Optimism

Just skimmed a rather sweet article about actor Josh Duhamel saying he was drawn to Fergie (Stacy Ferguson) because of her  optimism . On the advice of his father, he'd wanted someone who would know how to handle adversity. While optimism is inherent in some of us regardless of life's circumstances, difficult times make most of us more like Larry David than Mary Poppins. Ferguson abused drugs for years before finally coming clean. I suspect optimism was probably a large component of what helped her out of that rut.

I often reflect on the concept of inherent faith, the basis of which provides us with everything we need. Until we realize that, we base all our happiness and fulfillment on outside validation. Optimism, then, only exists when we have reasons to be optimistic. But just as faith starts within, so does optimism. Optimism is constant. There is never a "reason" to be optimistic. Optimism is about staying positive despite reasons not to be. The alternative, negativity, only begets dissapointment. In self-fulfilling prophecy, we're likely to lose what we've gained.

In conclusion:

Most limitations are self-imposed (we really are our own worst critics, as well our own worst enemies).

Narcissism and neediness often evolve from believing we can't provide our own needs. We become dependent on our partner, our job or our friends to maintain a sense of fulfillment. When our relationships become threatened, or cease to exist (often as a result of our needy, self-centered behaviors) our sense of self recedes further. We search for the next quick fix.

The solution is realizing we can provide our own needs. We all have unique gifts found in the activities we enjoy most, whether it's volunteering, writing, painting, cooking, collecting...or just being. It may seem ridiculously simple...because it is. Once we satisfy our own needs, truly defining our own lives, we'll be less likely to compare ourselves to other people. We'll stop depending on someone else to make us smile.We'll be better listeners, more patient and outward oriented.

We'll be able to get our optimism back, too.

And finally, we'll be able to keep our relationships strong.

Cheers to Josh & Fergie for making it work!

Faith in Action

Though raised Catholic, I've always found my relationship with God most meaningful on a personal level, outside of ritual or service. While raised to believe in a higher power, a faith in something bigger quickly became my own. I've always "felt" God and have never doubted my faith. How can we apply that faith to ourselves?

Though the Bible says we're made in God's image, we're at heart all too human. We're often taught to put faith in something outside ourselves (jobs, relationships, etc) to define our success. As a result, validation within becomes dependent on outside achievement. But if we believe we're part of God, we must believe faith originates within. Losing faith in ourselves, then, is losing faith in Him.

We often fool ourselves into thinking we'll find lasting happiness once we find the "right" job or the "right" partner. Sometimes it takes finding them and still falling off track to realize we can't rely on anything outside us to bring us peace. Until we fully accept ourselves, complete with quirks and challenges, we'll never be able to keep the things we found so excitingly "right."

How do we release the fears and self-imposed limitations holding us back? How do we truly accept ourselves, despite our flaws? It can be difficult to move forward when our past mistakes have stranded us in the muddy ruts of regret. We can't start fresh until we've cleaned that mud off first.

What does it take to clean off that mud? We must realize only we can clean it. While our family and friends can support us, only we can do the actual work. If we expect someone to clean it with us, they'll inevitably get dirty. They'll fall into a rut, too. We can only free ourselves. 

Faith within is realizing we don't "need" anything to be happy. One of my favorite allegories is about a man who finds a bag of gold buried near his home. Suddenly rich, the man is filled with excitement. He never has to worry about money again. But as the days stretch, he becomes consumed with fear of someone stealing it. He becomes so obsessed with losing the gold he finally gives it away. Sometimes it takes "having it all" to realize we somehow lost it all. Without a strong sense of self to anchor us, life's ebb and flow of circumstances will leave us adrift.

Faith doesn't come overnight. It's a process requiring consistent rejection of lingering fear and doubts. It's also about choices. We can choose to stay in the present. We can choose to be positive. We can choose to be happy. And we can choose self-acceptance. Faith in action is actively choosing to believe in ourselves. Once we do, we'll be able to appreciate the dreams we fought so hard to make happen.

I wrote these statements to keep my faith strong:

*I will release fear by realizing there is nothing in life that cannot be overcome.

*I will push and experiment and realize life is about living, not planning and worrying.

*I will not worry about definitions, time-frames, labels or status.  

*I will appreciate every moment.

*I will give without expectation.

*I will not expect anything, but appreciate everything.

*I will see every opportunity as a positive one.

*I will remember the future is defined by the moment.

*I will replace every negative thought with a positive one. When we fear failure, we fail. When we worry about things going wrong, they do.

*I will, most of all, be.

Want

When I first heard the words, "I have everything I've ever wanted," I thought it was with the addition of something. I also thought, "But there is always something to want."

Now I see what it really meant. We have everything we want the moment we appreciate what we have.

We often read about celebrities with seemingly charmed lives struggling with substance abuse or other challenges, engaging in fruitless searches for outward satisfaction.

I grew up in a place of affluence, of titles and top grades and "reach" and "safety" schools. My classmates were the children of lawyers, doctors and corporate executives. I loathed the pressure to fit in. I rejected the idea of doing community service because it showed I was "well-rounded" on college applications.

Yet up until recently I felt a little inferior, believing I "should" have more. I thought the more I chased, the more I'd receive. But the more I chased, the more I lost. 

I've finally stopped chasing. Once I learned to look inside for the validation I used to seek outside, I found the ability to keep what I wanted without ever losing a sense of how I got there. I learned everything we could ever need--everything we could ever want--is already here inside us.

Embrace it.