Achievement

I never knew how much I wanted recognition and achievement as a young girl, and as a young adult, and as a grown up.  It has only been as I have stepped, slowly and unconsciously, out of all the ways I used to get it that I have seen how much I needed it.  This side-stepping out of life has happened so softly that I didn’t realize how quiet all the cheering got until I listened and heard the silence.  3 years ago now I decided to leave teaching.  I left education.  I left something that I was really, really good at.  Something that on a daily basis gave me meaning, and shape, and worth.  I stepped out of years of hard work and achievement.  And it was the beginning.  I put myself into a year of traveling and moving and unraveled all the bullshit even more.  I started school and realized, profoundly, how new and how naive I was at something really hard.  There was no one cheering that I passed a test.  There was no one cheering that I showed up to be a student nurse.  I left my marriage.  I had no children.  I had no career.  I had nothing to base my worth on.  I was left with myself, my past, my present.  Very simple things.

It has been a hard road out of the sadness that surrounds realizing I’ve built my whole life on other people’s approval.  It doesn’t feel good to know that I’ve spent most of my energy on being something that I am not.  And it’s been sad to see how much I was willing to give up to get a little bit of kindness.  Once all the smiling faces and approval were gone, I realized how much I needed it.

The long story is too long to tell.  But the short story is that I have found a new way to understand my place in the world.  A much simpler, much easier, and much kinder way to be in the world.  I try to be aligned everyday.  I try to speak the truth.  And I try to be brave and face up to the challenges that come with any life.  And I try new things.

Since I have no real achievements to date and nothing particularly challengin about my life right now, I have decided to give myself the chance to try something that scares the shit out of me.  I’ve tried surfing, flying trapeze, being an average student, not running for the president of anything.  All these things have been scary.  And now I am adding 40 days of yoga.  I have signed up for a class at my yoga studio that is for 40 straight days of yoga.  I am not doing this to be tough or to say “I did it”.  I am doing this to break down the bullshit even more and see what is inside of me.  I have really enjoyed being physical and lifting weights and working out.  But I have been noticing that even though I am much more connected with my body than ever, I still check out like a champ.  And that is not something you can do in yoga class.  There’s no blasting Rihanna to drown out the sadness.  There is no fancy workout routines to channel the anxiety.  There will just be me.  And all the feelings.  And a chance to clean all of that out of me.

And that’s the goal.  I start in two weeks and I am so scared to do this.  I’m scared I will hate it.  I’m scared I will not be able to do it.  I am scared.  And that’s why I have to do it.  I had my chart read last year around this time and the man told me: If you are scared to death of something, you have to do it.  And so I am adding this to the list.  We’ll see.  Maybe I can start shifting my definition of achievement to something more personal, more real and less desperate.  Here’s to hoping.

For your consideration…

I am hesitant to post this, but since it’s my blog, I guess I get to say whatever I want.  So here goes.

The destruction that we all witnessed this week in Haiti has been so sad to watch.  Imagining the intolerable loss of human life there, the suffering of people who are already suffering so much, and the shear damage caused by the earthquake is mind and heart numbing.  The outpouring of support and discussion everywhere is a lovely testament to the human spirit.  We saw this with the tsunami, Hurricane Katrina and other natural disasters.  I do not deny the shoddiness of the government responses to all of these situations, but the charitable outreach of regular folks can’t be denied.

But there is something about the thousands of posts and comments that I have heard (conversations, Facebook, media) that I feel the need to talk about.  What makes me really uncomfortable is that so many people are saying things like: Remember how blessed you are.  Remember to say “I love you” to your family.  Remember how short and precious life is.

I say: If the death of probably hundreds of thousands of Haitians is what it takes to remind you to do this, then you are in some deep shit.  And the sacrifice of human lives turned into a chance to appreciate what we have is something that I am not willing to tolerate.

Now this response of counting blessings after something awful happens to someone else is very human.  I’m not slamming people who do it.  I get it.  I get the natural inclination to pull your loved ones closer and to hold them more tightly.  But what bothers me is that by doing this we basically say: We are not them.  We are separate.  We still have our families.  We still have our roofs and floors.  We are separate from the incredible suffering going on in Haiti.  And this belief is not only untrue, it is dangerous.

It is precisely this belief that we are separate from the suffering that allows us to forget about it in a few weeks and move on with our lives.  It is exactly this belief that allows us to cry for the Haitians and dislike our neighbor, or our lives, or our car, or our existence.  By believing we are separate, we allow ourselves to continue living without presence.

I also think that if mass destruction is what it takes to get you to appreciate your life then you are in serious trouble.  If you are moved by the images of Haiti, but still scream at the person in front of you in traffic, what have you learned about appreciating life? Absolutely nothing.  Life is short and terrible things happen everyday.  People you love die.  Natural disasters strike.  Young people have leg amputations so their cancer doesn’t spread. Hearts are broken.  Women are raped and sexually assaulted (1 every 2 minutes in the US, www.rainn.org) Horrible, tragic things happen.  And this is why it’s your job as a human being to appreciate what you have and the world around you all the time, not just after you are reminded that life is short by the deaths of thousands of people.

So I call bullshit on this.  Donate money, help, find reputable rescue efforts and support them.  Cry and pray for the Haitian people.  But do not dip into self-indulgence by “loving” your family more or appreciating your life for a few days and thinking that somehow honors the suffering you are seeing on your television.  Honor the dead by appreciating your life and what you have everyday, long after the reports and pictures have stopped.  It’s the least we can do.  Stop yelling.  Stop blaming other people or circumstances for your unhappiness.  And live up to the mandate of joy that you were born to fulfill.  And do this because life is short and because life is suffering and because we have no control over the world around us.  If your heart is breaking by what you are seeing on TV, then use the new openings as a way to let more life, love and joy into you.   Like Leonard Cohen says: There is a crack in everything/ that’s how the light gets in.

Let the healing continue

This past year has taught me many things.  Most of these lessons have been just a little traumatic, humiliating and cringe-worthy.  But there is one lesson that has no shame or regret involved. It stands out for me; unsullied, clean, pristine even. Just like the sparkling ab-incline bench.  Just like the shiny bars that hold the weights I lift at the gym.  Just like the glistening sweat that drips down my face after kicking my own ass.

This year I became a weight lifter.  Not a professional one.  Not even semi-amateur.  But like a really good gym rat.  The gym and I have a long relationship.  It is a relationship that has had a lot of turmoil, like dating a guy that is just mean enough to ignite your daddy issues, is vaguely misogynistic, and also happens to hate that you always wear clogs.

I will not turn this into a personal thesis statement for rehab, but the long and short of it is that I have struggled with eating disorders since I was very young, way too young to be honest.  And the gym became another addition to my little bag of addiction tricks in high school.  I cultivated yet another dysfunctional relationship and used it to wreak havoc on my life.  My gym life has ranged from nothing to two-hours on the stair master, from aerobic step class with ass slaps to solitary running to train for a marathon.  I have worked out next to townies at the YMCA and the Rock at Gold’s Gym Venice.  And none of this has changed my body, and none of it has made me proud or happy, and none of these countless hours did anything to help me be whole.

Until last January.  January 2009 was quite a time for me.  My world and heart was pretty broken.  I was alone, cold in SF, tired, and very, very sad.  I decided to start working out using the world’s best book ever (The Body Sculpting Bible for Women).  I believe this book appealed to me and it worked because it was very bossy.  It told me exactly what to do, how to do it, when to do it, and how much to do it.  I would go to the gym and it was the only place that no one could contact me.  I would put on my music and just do what the Bible Boys told me to.  Slowly I got stronger.  Slowly, very slowly, I saw my body change.  I stopped wasting time hating myself.  I stopped “bullshitting” and just got to work.  I worked out this last year 197 days.  This is more than every other day.  For a YEAR.  And what most impresses me is that I did this in joy and not self-hate.  I did this with love for myself and not disgust.  And it changed my life.  Here’s how.

*I have no idea how much I weigh, and I don’t care:  I can’t even begin to explain how obsessed I was with weight.  It’s so unbelievable, it’s not even worth it to try.  Plus it makes me feel ashamed that I wasted so much of my precious life giving a shit about a number.  I do not weigh myself and I haven’t in more than two years.   At the doctor’s, I turn around and do not look.  Someone in the summer asked me “How much weight have you lost?” and I said, “I don’t know” and they said, “Oh come on, you can tell me.  You don’t have to pretend you don’t know like you do with your girlfriends.”  Is this something people really do? Who would do this? Shoot, if I knew how much weight I’d lost, I’d tell you.  I do not deny how much work it took to change my body.  When people compliment me, I don’t say: Ohhh no, it was nothing, I still have so far to go.  I say: Thank you.  It’s true!!!

*I know this is the only body I get: I was born a Class-A Bullshitter.  It’s true.  I was born talking and I’ve only gotten better as I’ve gotten older.  I was such a good liar, I even believed myself.  I remember when I was 22 saying things like: oh, this is the only body I have, I accept myself, God is great, life is about the journey.  All the while I stuffed myself, got sick, drank and smoke , and generally destroyed this “one body”.  Now I know I have this body.  And I can accept it for what it is.  I have large bones, I have a big nose, I have fat fingers, I have strong calves, and my arms are looking hella good.  And I know this “one and only body” is the best body for me, because it is what I have.  And this has made me grateful about something that I have spent most of every waking moment hating.  Yesterday I was doing one-legged squats, which kill me, and I thought: Man I love my big bones and thick thighs that let me do this.  And the kicker is that now I mean this.  I really do. No more lies I guess.  Well, not about this.

*I know I can do what I say I will do: Like I said, I am a world-class talker.  I have spent most of my life talking about the great things I am going to do, in a bar or over coffee or, mostly, in my own head.  I always wanted to be in shape and feel strong, and I talked about it, and I definitely fronted.  But now I know that I can do this.  And for some reason, this fact alone has opened the door to so many possibilities in my life.  I know I will learn how to forgive more deeply.  I know that my dream of a 1972 Bronco can come true.  I know that I can heal the health problems that I have.  I know that I can stop smoking.  I know that I can find more joy in my life.  I know this now, because I followed through with one promise to myself.  And oddly, it is that simple.

I could write so much more about this, but I’ll leave it here.  I am so grateful for this part of my life and if you are considering making a resolution like I made last year, then let me suggest:

1. Have a plan, buy the book “The Body Sculpting Bible for Women” and just follow what they say.

2. Know that it will take time.  Anyone who tells you that you can change your body in six weeks is a liar.  Do not believe them.  It will take 6 months to really see change.

3.  Write down the days you exercise and celebrate at the end of each month. Do not count the days in a week you exercise (you might have a busy week), count for the month.

Time’s passing, so take your clothes off

Like many people I am a sucker for celebrations.  And New years is about as good as it gets.  I have had many New Year’s that consisted of wearing uncomfortable clothing and drinking way too  much.  Many years in strange Irish bars, or parties on the Caribbean coast, or loft parties of random strangers. This year I wanted to do things differently. I didn’t want to wake up hungover or with any regrets.  I didn’t want to pay too much or walk too much or spend too much money, I just wanted to respect the passing of time, as suggested by the Little Fish.

As I freely admit, I have a great big mouth and I like to talk tough and talk big.  This is why I love country music and Colombians.  This kind of talk is rarely frowned upon.  But I feel a certain cost to my dignity if I don’t follow through on my big promises.  And it seems the universe is also asking me to be truer to my word.  My dreams and thoughts become reality now before I can talk myself out of them.  And this New Year’s was no different.

Salvador de Bahia in Brazil has a ritual during the New Year where they make offerings to the Goddess of the Sea, Yemaya.  Yemaya comes in many iterations across the world, but she is basically the Mother, the guardian of children and protector of her daughters.  She’s like a really nice, really loving Mother and is embodied as La Virgen in many different parts of Latin America.  I talked to Edwin and I said: This year we are going to do it.  We are going to make an offering to Yemaya and we are going to jump into the Pacific at midnight.  I was smiling and happy all afternoon telling strangers on the street what we were going to do.  I asked others, “So what are YOU going to do?” just so I could tell them my great plans.  And then it got dark and cold and I realized that I had, once again, set myself up for having to be adventurous beyond my actual comfort level.

We ate and toasted the New Year and then relaxed.  As I watched a marathon of Law and Order, I thought about how I could get out of this.  And there just wasn’t any way.  I had to go through with it and I’d made a promise not only to myself, but also to La Santa Goddess of the Ocean, and she doesn’t like to be messed with!

So we rolled up to Ocean Beach at 11pm.  Bonfires were blazing around the expanse of the beach and it made me calmer that we weren’t the only people there.  We created an offering basket of all of her favorite things: flowers, perfume, soap, shells and a few other things.  We prayed and drank champagne.  We said our thanks to the world and the universe for the closing of such a crazy year.  And the countdown on the beach began.  Edwin and I stripped down to bathing suits and carried the offering to the ocean with candles.  Then we jumped in! All the way in! We put our offerings in the ocean and then ran out screaming and jumping under the blue moon of the New Year’s.

And it was honestly not that cold.  And it was honestly the best celebration I’ve ever had for New Year’s.  And it was honestly a chance for me to clean myself of the last year.  I can’t even begin to explain what 2009 was about.  And what’s funny is that that is exactly what 2009 taught me: sometimes there aren’t words for the gratitude, for the pain, for the changes that happen.  We get lost in our words and the purity and steeliness of what is happening gets diluted.  2009 was not a year that let me water-down anything.  And I highly doubt 2010 will be either.

So to you and yours, happy New Year.  I hope you enjoyed and are feeling the shift into something new, even if it is just a new tomorrow.

The ABC’s

As a former kindergarten teacher, I know the importance of the ABC’s.  No messing around with the building blocks of the written English language.  But I have recently come upon a new way of looking at the alphabet that I think is worth sharing.  I was sitting in a meeting the other day and a man shared that everyday he says the ABC’s of gratitude.  What? Ya, like he goes through the alphabet and says something he is thankful for for every letter.  I decided to give it a try since my gratitude practice wasn’t very rich.  So I have been doing it now for about two weeks every night before I go to bed and it is honestly hilarious what comes out of this.  Once I actually said I was thankful for the quadratic equation! Q is hard!

So here is my public ABC’s.  Maybe after you read mine you will try it.  It’s a great way to end the day:

A: apples (just kidding)

B: baseball

C: courage, to change and to become myself

D: Dancing with scarves to drums

E: Edwin.

F: Forgiveness.  Being forgiven, forgiving

G: God. The big G.O.D.

H: hand made earring

I: Indecision, cause it is always a time to pause and be patient. The good rev says, when you don’t know, don’t do anything.  Take a breath and wait.

J: Jokes

K: Kindness, in all it’s strange and beautiful forms

L: Laughter

M: Money, having enough and trusting that you will have enough

N: Nihilism, Nietzche, and all the others who pushed me to actually want to believe in something more. Haha! How ironic

O: Optimism.  In me, it springs eternal.

P: Plates, cause without them it’d be hard to eat

Q: The Quadratic Equation

R: Rachel

S: Singing, loud and preferably country

T: Talking to the sweet girls who understand me and love me. I have a few that are tucked safe in my heart.  And I am so lucky

U: Underwear.  I don’t like thinking of a world without underwear

V: Vision.  Optic Nerve II

W: Wet suits, I got one, no more excuses.

X: X-rays (this is also hard)

Z: Zinc, it’s good to treat colds.

Flying

Growing up I made a lot of promises to myself.  I will marry Harry Connick Jr.  I will drive a light blue Ford F150 in the country.  I will become a famous doctor and then leave it all because I have so much talent singing.  I will not talk about doing things, I will do them.  So far, only one of those promises has come true and it’s not about Mr. Connick-smooth-sounds Jr.    I think I can honestly say that I don’t talk about doing things, I talk a LOT about doing things.  And then I do them.  I wanted to move to South America.  I did.  I wanted to get into UCSF and become a nurse.  I did.  I wanted to learn to surf.  I did.  I wanted a tattoo on my arm.  I got it. I wanted to stop having such a bad temper.  I did that too.  Not to say that changing and doing these things has been easy, but I don’t regret the giant effort and leap of faith most of these things required.

And today was a new chance to keep my youthful promise.  I have a friend, the best kind of friend, the kind of friend that makes you do what you say you want to do.  One night walking down the street we were talking about flying trapeze lessons at the local circus school.  And I, as I often do, overestimated my sense of adventure and said: Ya, I totally want to do that.  So on my birthday I opened my present from her and it was a flying trapeze class lesson.  Ohhh man.  I was committed and very grateful.  But as the day got closer, I got really scared.

Last night as I went to bed, I felt scared.  What the hell am I doing? Why did I say I would do this? Then this morning I woke up and I was even more scared.   I was going to climb up a tiny ladder and stand on a tiny platform and jump into the air and swing around.  There are people who were monkeys when they were little and loved doing cartwheels and hanging upside down on the jungle gym and jumping off the swings.  I was not one of those kids.  I didn’t enjoy jumping around.  In fact, I was so wedded to the good Earth that when I played defense in soccer I would sit down if the ball wasn’t on my end of the field.  So what was I doing, who was I kidding that I had a circus-y bone in my body?  No one.

We rolled into the circus center and I knew I had to do it.  We signed in and there were about 6 of us in the class.  First the teacher showed us how to hang on the bar, pull up our legs and flip them over the bar and then release our hands.  I did okay until I got to the release of the hands.  Turning upside down is terrifying, especially if your knees are slipping.  But I did it, barely.  I got put last on the rotating list to jump. I guess scaredy-cats go last in the circus school.  Miss Edessa climbed up the ladder.  Got in position.  Jumped.  Knees up.  Hands released.  Back hanging.  And fall.  Perfect!  Miss Raluca climbed up the ladder.  Got in position.  Jumped.  Knees up.  Hands released.  Back and fall! Perfect!

Then it was my turn.

I chalked up my hands.  Climbed up the little, tiny, very tall ladder.  I whispered: don’t look down.  don’t look down.  I figured if I could get up there without freaking out, then I was all set.  I got up.  That platform is about 1 foot wide, with two or three people on it.   I got myself into position.  Talked to the teacher up there and did not look down.

So this is how you get ready to fly.  You stand on the edge of this tiny platform, you lean forward and grab the bar with one hand while holding onto the platform bar.  Then you grab the bar with the other hand while the teacher holds you steady with the harness belt.  So perfect.  Here I am.  Ready to go.  I figured I was all set.  I’d done the hard part right? I’d gotten in position.  Now was time for some fun, the jumping.

Ready, said Meghan.  Hep, said Meghan.  And I didn’t hesitate.  I jumped right off the little platform and started swinging.  And then it occurred to me that I probably should have thought this through a little more.

I screamed.  Not a graceful scream.  Not a scream of joy.  A scream kind of like a seagull: Ahhh.  Ahhh.  Ahhh. Ahhh. I screamed and screamed and screamed because I had not even once thought about what flying would feel like.  I have never in my whole life felt anything like that.  There were no knees up for me that round.  There was no graceful arm release.  There was just screaming.  Then I fell on the net and I was sick and scared and felt totally crazy.

The rest of the class was a blur.  I swung about 5 times and did finally get my knees up.  I got to the point when I could look back while swinging but there was no way I was going to let my hands go.  Raluca and Edessa both got caught by the trapeze man and flew into his arms.  So did the rest of the class.  But not me.  And the truth is I don’t really mind that I’m not made of the material to be a circus star.  That was never one of the promises I made to myself as a  kid.  I can let that one go.

What was interesting though was this.  Being connected with my body is not something I do very well and because there were so many new sensations in this experience I got to see what it must be like to be a child and feel things for the first time.  And for that I am so grateful.  It’s easy to shut down as an adult and forget what learning feels like.  And I don’t want that kind of life.  I want a life where I say what I’m going to do and I do it.  I will continue to need good friends to push me to do it, but I’ll be happy to go along for the ride, or the flight.

The smell of cigarettes.

What is it about cold weather that makes me think about the small things in life.  As I pull up my collar and layer on clothing and the fog rolls in around me, differences start to disappear and separation ceases to exist.  It is in these times that small things take on new shape and dimension.

There is a fog horn that blows in the bay of San Francisco and I hear it every night that the weather calls for it.  On cold nights, it feels like a reminder that I am not alone in the world.  The man who pulls the bell (or the man who developed the computer that sounds the bell) and I know its denseness in the dark.  When I smell the cigarette smoke on my hands hours after I sat on my steps to smoke, I remember the first time I smoked standing at night under the spring full moon next to the ocean and talked to my friend about the future.  And that smell reminds me of her and who she was in my life.  She is gone now and I wonder, as the dusky smell of tobacco gloves my hands, where gone really is.

Movies, words, music, images mix together on cold nights like this.  And the puzzle I am left with is how to piece my life together from this.  How to make sense of a story that is still unfolding and still beginning and ending at the same time.  Cold nights bring this out in me.  And I am glad that I know how to dwell in this darkness and in this depth.  Because it is the only way that I know what the light feels like.  And the only way I know how to balance the joy that I feel so regularly now.

Joy in small places

It’s weird to get older.  I remember listening to Bonnie Raitt when I was a teenager.  I was a little embarrassed that I liked her so much, so I listened in the quiet of my room or riding alone in the Pinto.  But I liked her.  She had that song that went: “I see my folks they’re getting on and I watch their bodies change, I know they see the same in me and it makes us both feel strange.”  And I remember, even then in my 15 year old body, thinking that some day I would be old.  Someday I would be an adult and would see those things change in me and in those around me.  I am surprised to get to 33 with so much and so little in my life. I can’t say that I ever dreamed of much.  I never wanted to get married or wear a big white dress.  I never wanted kids or a family.  I never wanted much of anything except to be successful.  I think I never learned how to look up and to dream. And the gift of getting older for me has been that I get to live dreams that I never dreamt.  I get to find joy in small places.

Although my life might not be a sweet package of middle class perfection, I am alright with that.  And surprisingly, I am also alright with people that have that life.  Before I was judgmental.  Bitchy and judgmental about people that chose the path of marriage/home/family.  But now I look at my many friends with this life and I am truly happy for them.  I am glad that they get to live their life the way that they want.  And I am also glad and less defensive about the life that I am living.   My joys might not be so obvious.  I might have many nights alone or holidays without Norman Rockwell in attendance, but that’s okay.  My joys now, for this moment, come from the small places in my life.

They come from being able to go to see my favorite band and sing along screaming my heart out.  They come in shopping for Thanksgiving and dancing in the aisles with my partner in crime to the blasting disco music.  They come from talking and joking with the cook who made me my lunch today.  They come when I am on my knees in the morning praying.  They come when I sit and write and think about life.  They come when I talk about the weather with the local fisherman who’s been trolling the Pacific Rim for the last 45 years.  These are my small joys.  And they are mine.

As I approach this birthday, the first one in a long time that has gotten under my skin, I am glad.  I may not have the life that I imagined, but the truth is that I never imagined much for myself.  And that makes what I have sweeter and more precious than anything I could have ever pictured in my younger mind.

So for all of us out there sitting with just a tinge of existential angst, I guess we know that we are not alone. And even in the irony and opposition of these two ideas, I can’t deny it. No matter how much I may feel it, I know that I am never alone.

Gratitude and Thanksgiving

It’s that time of year for me.  I am heading into the holidays.  Heading towards my 33rd birthday.  Heading towards memories of the past and hopes for the future.  I love Thanksgiving. I love that my birthday falls on this weekend every year.  I love that it’s a holiday that is just about food and loved ones.  I love that everyone is thankful on this day across America for their own unique reasons.

Recently, I was asked to write a daily gratitude list for some people that have been hard for me in the past.  I have to write ten things every night before I go to bed about why I am grateful for the situation I found myself in.  So in that spirit, I would like to write a gratitude list for this Thanksgiving and for this new year of life that I have been given.  Read it and add to it if you wish:

I am grateful for:

1.  Being forgiven. Learning to forgive is a hard lesson and it feels wonderful to be able to let go of my past hurts and resentments and I have learned that well this year.  I doubt I’m done learning that.  But what I have learned this year is what it feels like to be forgiven.  It is a wonderful, sweet relief.  It is green, cool, river  water.  And I am so grateful for the few of you out there who have decided to forgive me for the harmful things I have done and said.

2.  The present moment.  “TRUTH NOW” used to be my mantra.  I figured if I stayed in the truth and stayed in the now, I wouldn’t get lost in my mind.  But that was complicated.  It’s much simpler to just stay in the present and let the past and the future take care of themselves.  As I was recently reminded: “Girl, it’s Tuesday.  It’s just Tuesday.  All you have to do is Tuesday.”

3.  Country Music.  Ohhh Rascall Flatts. Ohh Sugarland.  Ohh Carrie, LeAnne, JoDee, Miranda.  I am so thankful that I have figured out that I love music that tells stories and has a melody.  This has boiled down to Hip Hop and Country Music.  I used to try to like the music that I thought was cool and awesome.  I tried to like the music other people told me about because I knew so little about myself and what I liked.  I am proud to love country music.  Not the kind of country music that passes for cool in circles of artists and awesome people.  Not Johnnie Cash.  Not Dolly Parton.  But new, pop, ridiculous country music.

4. Riding the waves.  Ya’ll know about that one already.  I am so thankful to know that most days, I can get in the water and swim.

5.  Knowing that I am not alone.  This year has been an epic one.  Big, huge, awesome and awful.  When I look back to my last birthday, I have to laugh.  I was so lost and so hurt and that went on for a long time into my 32nd year.  But in all of that pain and sadness and darkness, I wasn’t alone.  Ever.  There were many people that came in and out throughout the year providing love and support.  There were surprises for those folks who couldn’t be there for me for a lot of reasons.  There were surprises in the people who stepped up and stepped in when I really needed help.   And there were a few who were there through all of it.  I don’t think I would be here today without them.  And there was always, always God.  And I am lucky to believe in God, in a higher power, in something greater than myself.  I know that in the darkest hours of the last year, God was with me.  You know the truth by the way it feels inside, in the deep parts of ourselves.  And it was God who saved me in January, it was God who gave me the strength to walk away when I needed to, it was God who brought me the people who held my hand and let me cry.  And I am so grateful for that.

So now, why not leave a comment and tell me what you are thankful for.  I would like to add a final note: I am grateful for those of you who read my words.  Thank you for letting me share.  You have no idea how much it means to me.

Thanksgiving Story #2

Holidays are hard.  They are messy in a lot of ways, for a lot of reasons.  They are also beautiful and sweet.  In this story I would like to share about one thanksgiving that I remember as very messy and very beautiful.

It was the Thanksgiving of 2005, I was turning 29 and my parents had just gotten divorced.  My family was scattered all over the Eastern seaboard, but my twin and I were settled in NYC.  Because of some things that happened, our plans for Thanksgiving changed at the last minute and we decided that we would have the holiday and celebrate our birthday together in her sweet apartment in Queens.  Young peoples’ holidays in cities become a big party of misfits, and this was no exception.  Rachel and I invited anyone we knew who needed a place to go and we ended up with an array of strange and beautiful people.

In the way only old friends and sisters can do, we decided that the best thing to do would be to have a sleep over and make a festival out of the situation.  The night before, Rachel took the reigns of the turkey and began the Mexican family recipe of the 24 hour marinade.  She did and still does take turkey seriously, and it is always worth it.  We bought Parmesan Goldfish crackers, cranberry juice, Pillsbury crescent rolls, mashed potatoes and anything else that felt like home.  We spent the night chilling, slept and woke up in the morning to prepare the feast.  Rachel inherited the Irish genes for excellent mashed potatoes and apparently the Mexican genes for awesome turkey.  I inherited the German genes for setting the table, cleaning the apartment, and setting up the table in her bedroom.  The hour came before everyone was going to arrive.  Rachel and I raised a drink to our misfit Thanksgiving.  I believe it was then that she said, wisely: “It’s always darkest before it’s completely black”.  We laughed and laughed and cried about our losses and our blessings and all of the the sadness and joy that makes up a good life.

People came, we ate, laughed, and the night ended up with Rachel and I on the floor eating left-overs with a yoga teacher and her mom who was in town from Iowa.  The mom had bright red hair and a beret.  The kind of beret that can only be excused because she was not from NYC.  I don’t remember much of our conversation, but I know it was sweet and honest and full of sadness and forgiveness.

And even though this might sound like a sad Thanksgiving, I know that it wasn’t.  I am so grateful to know that kindness like this can exist in even hard times.  We humans are hard-wired for compassion and kindness.  All interwoven species are (look it up, Darwin only studied young species).  And I find that these moments of supreme vulnerability, these moments when everyone in the room knows there’s somewhere else they “should” be, that our humanity emerges.  And it has been these times, these sad, beautiful, imperfect days, that have taught me the meaning of kindness.  Now that is something to be thankful for.