White Noise
Each February, around this time I get in a slight funk. The holiday season, full of bustle and hope is long gone, work projects I seemed excited to tackle in January appear now more paycheck than passion, and there’s a huge space of reality between now and the next time I’ll see anyone in my family. But, mostly, I think it’s because this is the week my father died.
Some years, his birthday, or my parents’ anniversary, or the anniversary of his death might roll right on by, and several days later I’ll slap my forehead and remember. Other years, I dread it until it comes, worry myself into a panic, and allow it to pass fairly uneventfully since I’ve gotten myself into such a tizzy beforehand.
Either way, it’s strange to miss someone and both try to forget because it hurts, yet want to remember because it’s the only thing you have left.
2012 Visions
I entered 2011 with two tiny goals (I wish sarcasm were better projected through a website) of a book and a baby. While neither are happening the way I expected, both are likely teaching me more than if they had come easier.
I do feel slightly guilty putting my visions for 2012 out there, honestly. I don’t want for anything. I have a career that stimulates and challenges me, a loving and supportive family, friends that not only have my back but also make me belly laugh until it hurts, and a husband I was lucky enough to snag a decade ago. So, this year’s vision board is done in the spirit of putting it out there, a fresh start, a new year, or as Oprah says, “Another chance for us to get it right.”
Keep Me Warm
I had an article all planned to write this week. It was about holiday hairstyles featuring a funny story about how growing up, for special occasions, I always begged (err bribed) my twin sister into fixing my hair, and she’d always royally mess it up, not looking at all like I’d pictured: I’d walk off in a huff and we’d end up not speaking for several hours until I’d apologize for being such an a-hole and we’d be friends again.
There was going to be some great metaphor about family and friends and looking ones best, but instead, I’m buried in deadlines and just trying to peel myself out of yoga pants long enough to attend a restaurant opening on top of a holiday party I already RSVP’d to when all I really want to do is curl up on the couch, listen to the song below all day, and not worry about what I look like.
This year has been filled with plenty to keep me warm, and I’m so very grateful for it all. It’s all beyond what any person could ever hope for. I’ll be back with fresh content January 4; until then, here’s a year-end video … the best my eyes have seen in 2011. Happy holidays, everyone.
One to Grow On
We just bought our plane tickets to head to my family’s house for the holidays, which got me reflecting a bit on the spirit of the season. When I was younger my family had a phrase—one to grow on—that little extra push could set us apart, which could be applied to many things (but I remember it the most with sports, regarding a few more sit-ups or another lap around the track). I find myself thinking about all those things family and friends teach us along the way. Here are my top 10 (plus one to grown on) words of wisdom (or just plain actions I’ve admired) from the loved ones in my life; some, I wish, were still around to continue teaching me. These are my one to grow on moments pushing me to be better.
My Mom Said…
Nestled in my mom’s lap at my grandparents’ house circa 1980-something. Boy, those cats had the run of the living/dining room, didn’t they? Also, my mom’s loungewear from Korea rocks—I would wear those in an instant, right about now.
My mom said: To take the week off and spend time with her while she visited me last week in Atlanta, so I did. I’ll be back next week with new content. Until then, I’m relishing in all the sweet doting and tight hugs from her that will carry me through to December, when I see her next.
Plan B
Image: Courtesy of Korean Air
In this economy many people are looking to fallback plans for their careers. The New York Times has a great piece all about it, which you can read here. Do you have one? You know, that option B, the in case of emergency contingency plan. That career path you’d have in another life. Or maybe even your life right now.
I would be a flight attendant for an airline whose uniforms are adorable; those Korean Air attendants are so chic in white and turquoise, I die. Side note—does Kate Spade still design the uniforms for JetBlue? Does JetBlue even still exist? I’d even have a Plan B for my Plan B, a fallback for my fallback—a bartender in an interesting place like Key West or New Orleans because think of the stories you’d get! I should note, I’d predictably be one of the world’s worst flight attendants or bartenders for the same reason … just like in “Cocktail,” I’d cop a major attitude the second someone asks me to sling them a Cuba Libre. Oh they’d get the side eye for sure on that one.
Uncomfortable Comfort
I’m glad to be posting this on the last day of August. You see, this month, from the start, proved to be particularly challenging for me.
I went to a yoga class recently and the instructor talked about finding comfort even in uncomfortable situations—on the mat when holding poses you want to break out of, to off the mat when say you are on last minute flight to beat Hurricane Irene and you find yourself in Chicago while trying to get to Atlanta. No matter how hard it is making the moment semi-okay when it’s all the way not. Mastering the art of rolling with life and accepting whatever terminal the plane arrives in.
This month began with a massive writing project coming to a close and not at all the way I thought (or hoped) it would. This ending resulted in attorneys being called and me walking away after 18-months with nothing left to show for my work. All of which left me disappointed and sad, angry and hurt, and a whole lot of things I haven’t been able to process fully. Right now, I’m just trying to absorb everything and pick up the pieces from the wreckage. Take the good parts, learn from the bad and move forward. But, it’s hard.
To the personal—specifically, us having a baby. I’ve had several doctors’ appointments, tests and just loads of things I never knew we’d have to endure to expand our family. I’m trying to surrender to the process, to find comfortable spots in this stretch of very uncomfortable. I’m trying to take it easy and let everything unfold, as it should. But, right now it all hurts like hell, and I’m trying to get comfortable with this uncomfortable new road we’re walking.
All that pales in comparison to the last bit. While on his morning run, my brother-in-law was hit by a car. He’s fine (relatively speaking), not to belittle his injuries, but there’s no brain damage or spinal cord injuries. He’s getting stronger everyday post a collapsed lung and a ton of broken ribs, but the whole ordeal was terrifying to say the least. Within days, I found myself at my sister’s helping take care of him and their kids. Then, leaving a day early after being rerouted from a connection in Philly to make it back to Atlanta.
This last bit puts everything else in perspective. Life is about free will and choices. We are choosing to expand our family. I chose to walk away from a writing project. My brother-law-chose to go on a run. It’s what happens in the aftermath that gets tricky. But, I suppose without the turbulence, without the uncomfortable, you’d never fully appreciate it when things are simpler and the ride is comfortably smooth.
T.M.I.
Our lives are constantly flooded with images, opinions and chatter. I wrote those words in 2008 for the About section of dp before the site launched. Here we are, three years later and it’s more abundant than ever. Social networking sites have multiplied and when you work in the realm of media, particularly as a journalist with online outlets contributing to your mortgage, you’re required to add Facebook, Twitter, Google +, blogrolls and RSS feeds into your reading rotation. But, lately, frankly, I’m bored.
An Ode to Otis
Otis on canvas by Augusta Hyland Wilson
Summertime is the only time I feel sorry for Otis. It’s hot and he can’t handle it. And other than the stretch from June to August, that dog doesn’t have it so bad. Not in the slightest. But, boy, come June, you’d think he was dying from a heat stroke with the drama that ensues after he’s out back … he’ll throw himself under the ceiling fan in the living room like he’s dying, then go to our mudroom and dunk his entire face in his water dish, look up pitifully with water dripping down as if to say, “It’s so rough out there, you have no idea.”
I wanted a dog most of my life. I spent every birthday hoping for one, but it never came. When my brother (who’s the oldest) was a baby, my parents had Basset Hounds, Buck and Maggie, but they eventually had to put Buck down for violently biting my brother, and later, they gave Maggie away. I think the heartbreak from both was so devastating they never got another dog. But, that’s just my theory on the matter.
Homesick Blues
L-R: me, twin sister, older sister, older brother
I’ve been in Atlanta for 11 years now (almost to the day as I moved here Memorial Day weekend in 2000). And mostly, this feels like home. That’s the interesting thing that happens when we’re adults and no longer dependent on our parents; when the home you grew up in isn’t home anymore. Last year we toyed with the idea of many other places becoming our home—our hometowns made the cut (Cincinnati, Kansas City), as did NYC, LA, and Chicago. Even Richmond and Boulder were in the mix because of potential job opportunities.
But, that wasn’t where we were supposed to be. We’re clearly, for now, meant to be here, in Atlanta. Though that doesn’t make the missing any less rough. Lately I’ve been incredibly homesick, and I’m not certain what it is that I’m missing. My mom? My sisters and brother? My nieces, nephews, and grandmother? The unrealistic notion that my family isn’t scattered throughout the country?
My first Thanksgiving in Atlanta my twin sister visited and brought along her college roommate with her son who was about four at the time. My twin also invited her on-again-off-again high-school boyfriend and we cooked the turkey with the bagged innards still inside the bird (whoops), watched half of “Fight Club” just before bed and I had an epiphany in the middle of the night, woke my twin up and asked her to tell me the truth, “Is Tyler Durden real?” But that’s a whole other article. Anyway, apparently when they left, my twin’s college roommate’s son (ahem–this story is really a friend of a friend, plus a cousin, isn’t it?) said, “I miss everyone.” Meaning the chaos and all the fools (myself included) at that Thanksgiving in my teeny apartment.
And that’s where I am, as profound as a child, “I miss everyone.”
