Showing posts with label introspection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label introspection. Show all posts

Overwhelmed. with a capital o.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010

"Mommy - gooooooooo!" says my daughter. Go means both go and come and this morning at 6:25 AM, go means come play with me.

"Daddy is going to go play this morning. Mommy needs to sleep a little more," I respond, grateful that my husband is getting up with Evvy this morning.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" Evidently, she has chosen this morning to be anti-daddy. Great.

We try a few more times, but she wants nothing to do with her father this morning. So I lug myself out of bed and into the family room where she has now decided that Daddy is a sufficient playmate. I set up a makeshift bed on the floor so that I am still there but can close my eyes for a few more minutes. Today I feel exhausted. And my belly is itchy. And have I mentioned that my ass seems to decided it should keep up with my stomach? I'm going to need to get it it's own seat on our next flight. I keep making lists of things I need to get done but relaxing doesn't seem to be anywhere on that list. With the exception of the occassional pre-natal yoga class, I can't seem to find anytime for myself. It doesn't matter that I don't plan anything most evenings - there are dishes and laundry and bills. And those are just the weekly things - forget all the things on my list to get done before the baby arrives. I am exhausted.

At 7:15, while they go to walk the dogs, I get up and empty the dishwasher, reload the dishwasher, and start to get things ready for the sitter who will be arriving in an hour. Evvy has decided she wants cornichons for breakfast. Hey - whatever works.

I run to the grocery store to grab milk, which we are out of, since there will not be a successful naptime without milk. I take advantage of these 15 minutes to catch up with a good friend in NYC who has recently had her 2nd child - grateful for her words of wisdom and thoughts on how to juggle two as best as possible. (best as possible seems to be the key.)

I come home feeling mildly less overwhelmed when I enter my kitchen to my husband and child sitting on the floor surrounded by the contents of an entire container of Happy Baby puffs, most of her sippy cups and a slew of other things from the cabinets that I can't recall seeing because I was only seeing mild shades of red. Perhaps my baby is happy, but I am not.

I understand that my husband simply wants to keep her happy, but all too soon, he is going to realize the value of keeping mommy happy as well. Because he and I both know that now that I am home, he will need to get in a shower to leave for the day and I will be left to not only attempt to keep my toddler happy, but to also clean up the contents of the floor.

I spend the first 30 minutes that the sitter is there doing just that and getting dressed and I finally get out the door, knowing that at least I am on my way to yoga to try to clear my mind and my heart and my spirit. I am Overwhelmed - yes...with a capital O.

I was so zen during my pregnancy with Evvy but I am having immense trouble finding my zen this time around. I can't help but spend hours on end wondering how the hell I'm going to make it all work when there are 2. And yes, if you are my mother or my father or my aunt or anyone else of that generation, I am sure you are reading this, perhaps chuckling, thinking about how you did it and we all turned out fine. And that may be true. But I am not you, and I haven't done it yet and I am Overwhelmed. How do you tend to an infant, who literally needs you to survive, and a toddler, who emotionally needs you (and is still a baby too) at the same time? I know that people do it AAAAAAAAAAAAALL the time, but I haven't figured out how I'm going to do it. And to be honest, the questions from the other moms who have 18 month olds, asking me if I'm nervous about how I'm going to do it aren't helping. I smile warmly and say, "a bit, but we knew it would be more work at the beginning - we wanted the kids to be close in age." But what I want to say is, "Are you nuts? Of COURSE I'm nervous. I'm totally insane. What the hell was I thinking??????????" I don't.

I know that Evvy will be fine - that she will adapt. I know that I will manage to give the baby everything she needs as well. I know that there will just have to be enough of me to go around and that second babies tend to be more adaptable and that Evvy will adapt too. At least I tell myself these things to try to feel better. But when I'm done taking care of everyone else, I can't help but wonder, will there be enough of me left for me? Perhaps that's selfish of me, but to be perfectly honest, I think that in order to be a good mother, you need to be selfish sometimes. How do you give 100% of yourself to everyone else? You have to save a little bit for you. And I'm worried that there will be nothing left for me...

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 9:39 AM 0 comments  

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LOVE AND LIGHT
Monday, August 16, 2010

To be honest with you, I don’t know if the movie Eat Pray Love was good or not. I don’t know because I felt moved at times, inspired, and connected. A movie doesn’t have to be well done to do that, but when it does do those things for me, it’s hard for me to determine if I think it’s a good movie. I’ve seen a few HORRIBLE movies that I left the theater loving because I related. Upon 2nd viewing, I would realize that it was simply the circumstance or the place I was in my life at that moment or whatever – but that the movie itself was actually awful. I don’t know if Eat Pray Love falls into this category (the reviews would have me believe so) or not, but I left feeling satisfied.

There is a moment when the main character is in India talking about her ex-husband and looking for forgiveness or looking for him to tell her she’s ok and it’s ok or whatever it is she’s looking for that is not only outside of herself, but outside of her control. And her friend at the Ashram tells her that all she can do is forgive herself – that when a person that she is concerned about floats into her consciousness, all she can do is wish that person Love and Light – and then move them out of her consciousness.

In the past year, I have struggled with a few close relationships in my life. Close is a funny word to describe them, because that’s exactly what I no longer feel with these people. None of them have relationships with each other – the only thing they have in common is that at one time in their lives, they had an extremely close relationship with me. And from my perspective, we don’t have the same relationship anymore. The details are different with each person but the underlying reason is the same. Things change. People change – even the people that you are sure you know because you’ve known them for 10 or 15 or 20 years. We all grow up and new people enter our lives and new experiences effect us and we grow and we shift and we change. So we’ve probably both changed and with that, so has the friendship. I don’t know whether or not they feel the things that I feel, but I no longer feel good or happy or fulfilled by these relationships. I often find myself angry after interactions with any of these people. I go in hoping things will be what they once were – but fool me once, shame on you…fool me twice, well – you know the rest. So shame on me for expecting things to be different at this point. I leave angry, hurt, frustrated, nostalgic. But more than anything, I’m left sad. And conflicted. I care deeply for all of these people. But I no longer desire to have the relationship that we once had. And my inability to figure out how to “let go” has taken up a part of my being that would be so much better used for other, more positive things. I ultimately wind up angry at MYSELF. Why am I letting someone that I don’t even really LIKE anymore get to me so deeply? Why am I spending so much time thinking about it? Why, just when I think I’ve gotten to a new level, does something happen that sends me reeling all over again? And in the end, I’m the one who’s left with all the shit swimming in my head and my heart. It’s not good for me.

So I’m going to try something new. When anything happens with one of these people, or if I just happen to be thinking about them for whatever reason – be it because they’ve reached out or have come up in conversation or whatever – instead of thinking and thinking and thinking some more about what used to be and what isn’t now and what happened the last time we saw each other or spoke that just chipped another piece away from the relationship – I’m going to send them Love and Light and then I’m going to move them out of my consciousness. It makes sense – I struggle because I do love, even if I don’t like so much anymore. And looking for answers has my chasing my tail. So I’m going to try only being positive and letting go.

Yes it’s totally idealistic. But I’ve been trying to let go for a few years with some of these people and nothing has worked. So as someone smart once said, “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 8:45 PM 1 comments  

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The wishes that can't come true...
Friday, July 31, 2009

I've written this post in my head so many times over the past 2-ish years but tonight, I just felt the need to actually put pen to paper (so to speak...and btw, I love the idea of actually putting pen to paper these days. The computer screen is so bright...)


My friend Stacey is on a plane to NYC right now. She wasn't supposed to go until Tuesday. But she got that phone call  - the "you need to come now" phone call. She got the phone call I got 2 years ago, the one I chose not to act on because I'd had my "last" visit. But Stacey hadn't yet had hers - it was planned for Tuesday but it needs to be tomorrow instead. I don't know why talking to Stacey prompted me to write when other moments have not. The brief conversation we had on the phone tonight brought emotions flooding for me.  Maybe it's that I feel uncannily connected to Stacey.  Maybe because my grandmother's birthday was this week and I can't bring myself to take it (or her phone number) out of my blackberry. Maybe it's because the circumstances surrounding Stacey's trip felt all too familiar and because Stacey's relationship with her grandmother seems so similar to the one I had with mine. Maybe there's no reason that it's hitting me right now specifically.  There's not much to say in those moments so I just shared what had brought me peace in those final weeks - that my grandmother wasn't comfortable anymore and that it didn't matter how much we were all going to miss her (terribly beyond words) - because her life wasn't what she would want it to be. And so, while it was painful to see her go, it was best for HER. I said it without a quiver in my voice, but I hung up the phone and for the first time since my grandmother's unveiling last September, I cried that she was gone. 

A few months ago I brought Evvy to Massachusetts for the first time. And when I walked into my parents house, I had the oddest sensation. I had to remind myself over and over that my grandmother wasn't here anymore because I kept having this overwhelming desire to pick up the phone and call her to say that we were here the way I always did when I got home. I've often missed my Grammy, but I've rarely wished her back - except in that moment. She would have loved Evvy - not just because she was her great grand-daughter - but because she has great pulkies (as my mother-in-law says, "her rolls have rolls!") and she has great spirit. At 4 months old, this kid has chutzpah that can rival the best of them. 

I wish she could meet her. I know in my heart that she knows her - probably more than even I do at this point. But tonight,  I wish her back just for a moment...

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 8:32 PM 1 comments  

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Stream of Conscious
Thursday, June 11, 2009

Do you ever wonder what it was like to be a baby? I stare at Evvy and wonder what's she's thinking and wonder what it must be like to be her. I can't fathom being that little and depending so completely on someone else to make sure that you are cared for. The whole thing blows my mind. Watching her discover her hands, her mouth, her laugh...everything is new to her. That must be amazing - to have everything be new. I suppose I'm living vicariously through her because everything with her is new to me.

Why do you think it is that we don't remember what it's like to be a baby? That we don't have memories that early? There has to be some sort of reason for it - everything else in this whole process of having a baby has a reason - so there must be one for that too. Although I'm certain it's not as scientific as the reasons behind most of the things that happened while I was pregnant and having a baby. But our bodies just know how to do so many things without having to learn or being told...so I'm guessing not having memories as a baby is something our bodies do for a reason as well.

When I started thinking about my earliest memory, my first year of pre-school came to mind. Those are my earliest memories - when I was 3. They're vague most of them - flashes of people and pictures of places. I remember driving up to the house that my parents now live in and sitting outside looking at it. I must have been 2 1/2 at the time actually because we moved in before my sister was born and she's a little bit less than 3 years younger than me. I sat in the backseat of my mom's blue car - a chevy maybe? My mom was in the driver's seat and my grandmother was in the passenger's seat. I have such a vivid picture in my head of sitting outside the house and leaning forward while we all peered at the new home we would be moving into. That's it - just a snapshot...but I remember it. I wonder if it's even real.

And I wonder if the memory of my nursery school car pool where I screamed at the boy who got in the car to "Get up. GET UP!! You are SITTING on Wonder Woman! YOU ARE SQUISHING HER!!!!" is a real memory of my own - or simply one that I remember from hearing my mother tell the story so many times.

Why are certain memories so vivid for some and non-existent for others - even if they shared the same experience? What will I remember to share with my daughter about this time? (I was supposed to be writing it all down but I am certain that I will remember to tell her that there's no time for that.)

Sometimes I want to freeze this moment - where my child still needs me. The moments before she finds her independence. I know that I can not and so instead, I just breathe it all in deeply and stay present. And I stare at her and wonder just what is going on in that beautiful little head. And I believe that I will remember these moments forever.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 11:03 PM 2 comments  

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Your path is your own
Sunday, March 15, 2009

There's been a lot of discussion of age recently. Not simply because we're having a baby, although I know from personal experience that other people's "milestones" (of which I have always felt having a baby is one) tends to leave others looking and reflecting on their lives...which often leads to looking at age and where you are, where you expected to be, blah blah blah. In the course of a couple of weeks, I have been to the birthday celebration of a person turning 50, a dinner party for someone turning 39 and tonight we're headed to a dinner for someone turning 33. My husband's birthday is on Monday and of course, the most significant (for me) literal birth day is swiftly approaching. And that doesn't even cover the 7 or 8 other friends who had a birthday last week or are approaching one this week. 


Birthdays bring up age and age seems to bring up all sorts of shit. I remember when I was 21, the thought of 30 was insane. 30 was OLD. But it was 9 years away and I had lots of life to live before I hit that. I'd be married and successful by then (whatever that meant) and maybe even have a baby. Shortly before my 23rd birthday, I moved to NYC and started waiting tables while I was auditioning. I landed a job that most NYC waiters coveted but it wasn't the restaurant that I was taken with - it was the people that I had the amazing good fortune to work with. It was an eclectic, bright, vibrant group of creatives - everyone from furniture makers to dancers to actors to philosophers to students to the ultimate fashionistas and foodies. And they ranged in age from 19 to 55. Two years prior I wouldn't have thought that I would have much to say to that 55 year old, but all of a sudden, I was blind to age. I was thrilled by their knowledge, by their thoughts on life, by their triumphs and struggles. One of my closest friends in the group celebrated her 30th birthday that year - and she was anything but old. I had learned my lesson - age was just a number. 

We discussed that at the birthday of the 50 year old this past weekend. If I had thought that 30 was 0ld when I was 21, then 50 must have been one foot in the grave. Now, 50 is young. Perhaps that's because of the youth and vibrance of those that I know that are 50. After all, it is still quite possible to be 50 and be old. But it's also possible to be 20 and to be old. Age is just a number.

It's amazing to me that I spent so many years placing ultimatums on myself surrounding my age. What made me think that I should be married by 30? (Besides a large portion of society acting as though you're a leper if you haven't settled down by a certain age.) I know plenty of people who DID get married by 30 - and now they're divorced. These things should be dictated by nothing more than finding a person with whom you truly want to spend the rest of your life. Not how old you are or how long you've been together. Simply by whether or not you think that you will be a good match for each other...forever. 

And then there's the baby thing. And for women, this is a huge issue because it's not mental - it's physical. As a man, you can get someone pregnant until the day you die. You don't have a "limit" as to when you are able to have a biological child. As a woman, plain and simply, you do. Your body will only allow you to conceive for a certain amount of time, whether you like it or not, whether you're ready or not. While this is (not SEEMS - IS) completely unfair to women, it's a fact and one that women I know deal with on a daily basis. Some women aren't ready to have kids, but worry that if they wait, they won't be able to. Some women are ready but haven't found a partner and worry that they won't before they lose their ability to have a child. Many women (again, myself included at one time) look at those around them having kids and feel like they're not where they're "supposed" to be by this time. Even if we don't think about that on a daily basis, it comes up now and then...often when we least expect it, triggered by someone else's news that should only be about them but all of a sudden has us spinning out about ourselves. And usually, it comes back to, "I'm 29/34/41/56. How am I not where I thought I should be by this age?"

So the question remains - who created an age by which you SHOULD have? Reached your goals. Started a family. Found a partner. Become an adult...(I know 49 year olds who will never be an "adult" and I know 22 year olds who are far too adult for their own good.) Who stuck these parameters - these limitations on our lives? And how do we shed ourselves of them so that we can just BE. And live. And enjoy. And strive. And take away the feelings of failure for not having achieved by a certain AGE. Because, as one of my wisest friends once said to me, your path is your own. And age is just a number. 

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 10:55 AM 2 comments  

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2009
Friday, January 9, 2009

I was running around like a crazy person trying to set up these last minute meetings. I had just spoken with one of my favorite people at Agency X and he'd asked if we could make some last minute adjustments to the schedule of extremely important meetings. Assistant B was incompetent and/or unhelpful and he knew I was an executive now, but could I just help him figure this out given that it was so important? I adored this person and for him, I said of course I would try and that it shouldn't be an issue.


 I knocked on another exec's door to check in with him quickly. His assistant was nowhere to be found and I needed answers fast. Someone else answered the door and looked at me like I had 10 heads - as though I had interrupted a world peace summit rather than someone talking about some tv show. There were two other people in Exec's office who just stood there, staring at me in the doorway. Me, being...well...me, I poked my head deeper in to ask Exec my extremely quick and fairly important (as in, important in the world of television important) question. Exec was on the phone. Having anticipated this, I shot him a slip of paper with my yes or no question written on it. He read the paper, looked at me and frantically started mouthing things to me while making wild bird like gestures. I stared at him. I had absolutely NO idea what he was trying to tell me or what he was trying to gesture about.  I took one more look at him, decided I was making some executive decisions, left the office, made a phone call and rushed to...the yoga class that was taking place in the middle of the office. Everyone was getting onto their mats and several people started running up to me asking questions, acting as though we were about to perform major surgery instead of change a meeting. A couple people seemed to feel that, with these last minute changes happening, I couldn't have possibly done my job right to begin with. And then, right as the yoga class was beginning, Exec came out and sat next to me and started whisper-yelling things in my ear. And then another one on the other side started doing the same thing as well. And as the yoga instructor began to tell everyone to close their eyes and breathe deeply, I started to cry. Everyone else's chests rose and fell as they inhaled and exhaled. Mine just shook with tears. And like a great shot in a movie, the camera closed in on me and then rose about the room - everyone else a blur as my little body sat in the center, trying to understand what had gone wrong after years of running around like a crazy person trying to take care of every little thing that needed taking care of, tears silently streaming down my cheeks.

And then I woke up. 

I didn't fall back to sleep right away after that dream. I sat and thought about it for a minute.Up until the yoga class, everything about the dream had been totally real. And the berating that I took in the yoga class, while exaggerated, was pretty accurate as well. I thought about the way people handed out judgement like chocolate in that office. (And I don't know about your office, but there's a loooooooooot of chocolate flying around the one I used to work in.) I thought about the way things often turned into accusations rather than questions when people didn't understand things. I thought about how many people operated on fear, how often people were disgruntled, how panicked they were to make a mistake, how rarely it felt like people were truly working together. I haven't been there in 3 1/2 weeks. And I have to say, I'm feeling pretty great. I don't know what the dream meant, but it sure as hell made a lot of sense to me. 

Do things happen for a reason? I don't know the true answer to that. I know that personally, I believe that they do.  I believe there's something to be learned from every situation. I believe that something better is always there if you can just let yourself see it. 

Happy New Year. 2009 is going to be a fabulous year. I can just feel it. 

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 8:41 AM 0 comments  

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What Happened?
Monday, December 22, 2008

Why do people ask "So...what happpened?" I mean seriously...if YOU had just gotten laid off, would you want to answer that question?  What happened!?! What happened? Fuck if I know. I have no idea. One day I was getting promoted, truly loving my job more than I can remember, and the next day (ok 3 months later) I was being tols that I had no job.

Was it suppsed to make me feel better to be told I had more important things to be concerned with right now? It didn't. Was it supposed to make me feel good to know it has nothing to do with my performance? That my boss felt I could run the company one day? It didn't. It made me feel worse. If I had such potential, showed so much promise...then why were they choosing ME?!?! It's hard to swallow. I have gone over it and over it and over it in my head 50 million times. I don't get it. I don't get some of the people that still have jobs and I don't. The pieces of the puzzle don't add up. And while I never thought things like this happen to people like me, apparently, they do. 

I have gone from pissed as hell to zen and back again tonight. I don't think I want to talk about it anymore. At least not with just anyone. I need people who get how I must feel...and sometimes it feels like people don't. They couldn't possibly if they are saying some of the things they are saying, asking some of the questions they are asking. And having these conversations is not making me feel any better. It's not helping me to move forward. I don't know why it happened. I don't know if my pregnancy played a role or not. I don't want to hear that companies are doing this left and right and then 3 months later, hiring people that are cheaper. I truly don't believe that will happen here...but even thinking about it makes me angry again. It makes me furious in fact. It makes me want to throw something. Something large that could do damage. 

And I don't want to be angry. I don't want to stress too much about the future.I just want to be. To be pregnant. To be happy.

I'm finding it hard, though, to not have a job. I know that my job is not my identity. I have said it many times before. I know that there is so much more to me than what I do. But I was loving my job. I was proud of where I'd gotten. I worked my ass off to get there. And I was loving it - truly loving it - for the first time in a long time. It felt like an achievement to have finally gotten to a place I had been working to get for so long. And I was good at it - I was really, really  good at it. So it felt like it was a part of who I am. And I feel like I lost a part of who I am. I mean, I know I didn't. I know that's not really true. I know that I still have the things that truly make me who I am-that no one can take that away from me. But still...it feels like it. I feel a loss.

And tonight I just want it to go away. I don't want to answer questions or hypothesize about why or think about what I'm going to do. I just want to move forward. I really want to pretend like it didn't happen or like I never worked there. Which I suppose means I don't really want to deal with reality...but that's how I feel for tonight.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 12:21 AM 1 comments  

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Content My Ass.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008

I suppose I spoke too soon.

I've been staring at the screen, trying to figure out how to make this creative or funny or...something other than straightforward. I haven't figured it out.

It's 5:33 on a rainy LA morning and I've slept for a total of about 3 hours. I'm chock-fucking-full of angst. I don't actually know if it's a rainy LA morning or not - I don't think it's raining anymore to be honest, but rainy sort of fits my mood and it sounds good. So for my purposes of this post, picture it rainy.

I started to write about all the good things, the things that are truly important - like the fact that my baby is healthy - and, for that matter, how excited I am that I'm having one. That everyone important to me is ok. And then I realized that I'm doing via blog what my friends and I all discuss our parents do to us when they call with bad news. They go through a laundry list of all the things that ARE ok. Everyone that IS fine. Telling you that everything is alright...all the while preparing you for the fact that things actually AREN'T ok, that not everyone is fine, that everything actually isn't alright...until you want to reach through the phone and punch them, but not before they tell you what the hell is GOING ON ALREADY!

Yeah. So I don't want to do that. I got laid off yesterday. Almost exactly 2 months after I was promoted. Almost exactly 3 months before I have a baby.

So yes - everyone is fine. And everything will BE fine. But things aren't ok right in this moment.

I keep reminding myself that everything happens for a reason. That when one door closes another door opens, that out of necessity comes invention. That we are not handed anything that we are not capable of handling. EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON. I'm working every last ounce of energy I have to embrace zen. Because what other choice is there really?

Zen as hell - except when I'm not. Not in the the moments of complete rage I've flown into or the twenty minutes spent crying in the middle of the night, trying to understand how certain people who make four times what I make and do about a quarter of the work still have their jobs but I don't. What the reasoning is behind laying off a person with a salary that's less than the new desk that the CEO of our company recently purchased. A person who has been loyal and worked hard and told time and again of their value to the company and their potential for the future.

All I can remind myself is that someone, somewhere knows that I am destined for bigger and better.

Dear Someone,

Your timing sort of sucks.

But I'm sure you have your reasons. I'm sure you have big plans for me. You're more than welcome to reveal them sooner than later.

So yeah - about that whole being content thing? I spoke too soon. But I sure enjoyed it while it lasted.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 5:32 AM 4 comments  

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Scent of a Memory
Thursday, October 2, 2008

It's amazing the way our senses can transport us somewhere instantly. Smell in particular. I smell something and I'm carried back - to a person or a place, a room or an event.

Last week, I was walking the dogs in the early morning. Once I can actually get my ass out of bed, it's one of my favorite times of day. It's still calm and quiet and the newness of the day is fresh upon me. The air is still cool - even here in LA where it's been hotter than hell as of late. And my puppies pull me along, thrilled to be out exploring for the day. On this particular morning, we turned the corner and instantly, it smelled of camp. The scent of a bon-fire hanging in the air from the night before. A smell of comfort, of warmth, of marshmallows, of friendship. It was a smell of safety - one of those smells that you love. That you wish they made a candle of.

But in an instant, the smell changed - grew stronger, more intense, BAD. It smelled BURNT. And my memories went instantly from fond to heartache. The air smelled burnt. And the only time I remembered anything smelling like that was the days following 9/11.

I wrote this post on 9/11 this year. I posted something else, unsure as to whether or not I wanted to post at all, unsure as to whether I wanted to write about the day's significance for me. I try not to think about it too much and at the same time, I try hard not to forget.

It was easier when I was in NYC...easier when I could spend the night with people I was with that day, or just people who were there too. I do not mean to suggest that it wasn't an insanely emotional day for the entire country. I just don't think that anyone who was not in New York, or DC or near that field in Pennsylvania can possibly ever imagine what that day was for those of us that were. Just as I can not imagine what that day was for those who lost mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and uncles and aunts and sons and daughters and best friends and co-workers. Just as I can not understand what it was like to be in New Orleans during Katrina.

On 9/11 this year, my brain whirled as I thought about all the things that have come after and all the things that are coming. I've written about the moments before. But I've never written about the moments during and the moments after. And that smell...that smell of BURNT - it brought me right back there.

I have never posted about the sound of K's voice on the other end of the phone when I finally got through after the second plane hit. "Get down here now," she said through sobs. "Walk out to the river and just keep walking. Don't stop until you get to my house." I listened. I walked and walked as my feet bled in my brand new flats, eternally grateful that I had chosen that day to wear flats instead of my normal 3 1/2" heels. The only time I stopped was when I heard the sound of planes overhead. At that moment, in New York City, you could hear a pin drop. There were hundreds of others around me - we all froze and just looked up, holding our breath, until we realized that they were US Air Force.

I have never posted about the sound of my mother's voice when I finally got through to her, or the sound of my sister who, at 21 years old, had just moved to NYC 2 months earlier after graduating from college. I told her to come down to K's. When she got there, she shared the story of the cab driver she had begged to take her. "If you'll let me call my wife to let her know I'm OK, then I'll take you to the West Village."

I have never posted about the line we waited in at St. Vincent's to donate blood. We stood among hundreds, possibly thousands, for over two hours but the line didn't move. The line didn't move because only living people need blood transfusions. They finally came out and told us all to go home.

I have never posted about the way we fell asleep, all piled on top of one another on K's bed, listening to the same information spouted on the news over and over again, waiting to understand what was going on.

I have never posted about walking through barricades on my way to work the next morning at 14th Street. There was a batallion around lower Manhattan. It was in that moment that I realized that we were truly under attack.

I have never posted about the way that I just up and left my office in the middle of the day because I was so overwhelmed and the emotions came so quickly and so hard that I couldn't possibly think about putting together investor packets for a Broadway show.

I have never posted about that one night that I stayed in my apartment alone. It was the only night I stayed there for weeks because I had nightmares all night. I needed to be with people at all times. I didn't care if I had to sleep on floors. As long as I was with someone else.

I have never posted about the burnt smell of the air that came in the days that followed. All of a sudden, the air just smelled...burnt.

Or the rain that came on Friday morning - and my own tears matching those of the sky as I watched them dig as hard as they possibly could through the rain.

I have never posted about the missing signs that wallpapered the city. The flowers on every corner. The desperation that oozed from the walls. The way you actually stopped and looked and hoped and prayed like you never had before that perhaps you would bump into that stranger on the street.

I have never posted about the way people looked at each other for a long time after that. The city was different. It was quieter. Everyone was connected in a way they'd never been before...without words, without introductions. Just with compassion.

I have never posted about the vigils in Union Square. Thousands gathered looking for a place to understand what they were feeling. We all felt lost - but at least we felt lost together.

I have never posted about the horrific fear I had of getting on the subway again. How I just focused on putting one foot in front of the other - not on where I was going. Because if I thought about that too hard, then I turned around and went home. Just one step at a time, until I found myself on the train practically holding my breath until I was above ground again.

I have never posted these things because I am not a good enough writer to be able to possibly depict what that day was. Or perhaps I just don't want to. It might just be that it's hard enough to bring back these memories, never mind the emotions that go with them. I don't want to forget, but I'm not so sure that I can let myself fully and completely remember enough to write about it. Except that, in that moment, we were all equal. Everyone in all of New York City. We were all just people - no color, no class, no religion. We were people who needed each other.

And that smell - the smell of burnt - had me back there, reliving these moments like a film where the images flash before your eyes...it's all there. A single smell and I was transported there instantly.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 12:31 PM 1 comments  

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Upon the closing of RENT
Tuesday, September 9, 2008

ed note: I wrote this two days ago but I needed to sit with it for a moment. RENT closed on
Sunday, September 7 after 5,124 performances on Broadway.

I watched RENT for the first time on the Tony Awards in the spring of 1996 - my Junior year of college. I was awe-struck and overwhelmed by the innovation and excitement I was seeing on stage. I knew I was seeing something new, something life changing. I felt like I was going to jump up and start dancing as they performed "La Vie Boheme". I didn't care what or how - I had to get to New York to see the show. And that fall, after I'd already memorized the entire album (and consequently had driven my Senior Year roommates absolutely mad - it was the only thing I listened to. Ever.) one of my best friends and I went to NYC for my 21st birthday to see RENT.

I saw the show at least 7 or 8 times in next 7 years. Sometimes I was madly in love with it and sometimes I was underwhelmed. That's the joy of live theater - you never get the same thing twice. But no matter how much I loved that particular show or not, I always left that theater inspired and fully and completely alive. Like tingling. From head to toe.

8 years after I watched those Tony Awards, I went to work for the men responsible for bringing the show to Broadway. I sat in the audience again during a particularly impressive performance and once again, I was awestruck. I felt the magic of what good theatre does. I felt like absolutely anything was possible. La Vie Boheme.

And last night, as the curtain came down on a show that changed my life in so many more ways than I ever could have possibly imagined, I was not in NYC to witness it or to celebrate it. But I thought about it.

I thought about Seasons of Love and how much I've been reflecting on it lately without even realizing it.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes,
Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.
In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in the life?

I still cry every time I hear those lyrics. Every single time. I'm crying now as I read what I just typed. Simple. Genius. Simply genius. And so apropos when you think that the man who wrote them died before he ever got to see them performed on a Broadway stage.

So last night, while I couldn't be there in person, I found my spirit soaring to NYC to the Nederlander Theater. And I taped those lyrics to my computer. And I said outloud "You measure in love. Seasons of Love."

That's my mantra these days. Measure in love. Not much else matters. And I find my spirit soaring to NYC more and more. Even if my body is physically in Los Angeles. Just to feel the pulse of the streets and the energy of the people. And the love of the people that I have there. And the familiarity. La Vie Boheme.

There's so much going on right now -some of which I can't post about, some of which I've been choosing not to. So I've been escaping to a story from my past - to write, to have a presence here, because I'm curious to have people read something that I've been working on in addition to my random ramblings and musings and thoughts.

But tonight I had to write. I'm feeling the end of an era. That show rocked my world in a way I didn't even realize at the time. It has become a part of my identity. It's part of how I measure my life. La Vie Boheme.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 10:01 PM 1 comments  

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No way out but through
Thursday, July 31, 2008

One of my oldest friends (we'll call her Buttercup) was in town from NYC this past weekend with her adorable baby. As we strolled through the gorgeous streets of Hancock Park (and I continually rammed the stroller with sleeping baby into the edge of the grass), we discussed the fact that we had definitively entered a new time in our lives. Gone are the days of bars until 4 AM, (of course, this only took place in NYC, since everything is closed by 2 out here. I am grateful everyday that I spent the majority of my 20's in NYC where a proper night out didn't end until the sun was only an hour or two away from rising.), the days of showing more skin so that we could inch our way to the front of the line, the days of Saturday nights that didn't start until 11, the days of wondering when or if the text from that guy was going to come, and the days of jumping when it did.

This has been a conversation that I've had on multiple occasions as of late, with different friends. Another of my closest described her insane evening out in NYC at the Beatrice Inn last week, surrounded by ridiculously gorgeous 24 year olds, drunk on their youth (and a few too many Ketel and soda's). When I asked her if she missed it, she didn't think twice before answering that she most definitively did not.

The attitude seems to be one of been there, done that - enjoyed it whole-heartedly and no need to look back. And I love that.

But there's often a second part to this conversation and it involves the last two things on my list of "gone". The days of wondering when or if the text from that boy was going to come and jumping when it did.

"I wish that I hadn't wasted so much time wondering if I was ever going to meet someone. I wish that I'd just been able to enjoy that time of kissing random boys, meeting new people, flirting incessantly - without so much angst involved. I wish that constant questioning and fear that I was never going to find someone hadn't hovered over that time in my life like a Jewish mother watching you eat that ice cream sundae," Buttercup vented as I once again, rammed her baby's stroller into the grass.

It was like she was reading my insane mind. I had been one to voice my fears and anxiety to my closest friends more than most. Recently, another good friend returned a phone call after a month. She has a seven week old baby. She doesn't EVER have to return phone calls as far as I'm concerned...As soon as we got on the phone she started bitching about her significant other and how much he was driving her MAD. And then she stopped and apologized.

"I haven't spoken to you in a month and the first thing I do when I get on the phone with you is complain. Nice."

My response? "It's the least I can do for you after the years where the only phone calls you got from me were full of anxiety and complaining."

She laughed. Because it was true. I had so much anxiety about not knowing how my life was going to turn out, was it going to be ok, would I be successful, would I ever meet a guy, blah blah blah blah BLAH, that I literally had to express it to my friends or my brain was going to EXPLODE with ridiculous fears. My point is, I had expressed those fears to Buttercup while they were happening. It was rare that she had expressed them to me. I had no idea that she felt plagued by the same anxieties, so much so that at times, it prevented her from enjoying that crazy and wild ride we were on.

We continued our stroll, trying to figure out a way to make money by teaching women this lesson. But the problem is that you can't teach anyone any of this. They have to learn it themselves. They have to go through it. Sure - there are all sorts of Goddess classes, The Landmark Forum, Personal Dynamics, to name a few...But none of it can teach you what you need to KNOW in order to live it.

So my question is this, why is it that the women of my generation and those younger than mine (which, incidentally, seem to be increasing every day...) don't just know? Why do we spend precious hours, months, days deep in the dark hole of anxiety? Is it because our grandmothers are constantly hounding us about when we're going to meet someone? It is because the way things are now are so different from the way things were? Because people aren't settling down right after college and so yes, "meeting people" is becoming harder and harder?

I'm fascinated by this phenomenon...and curious to know what others think...

I used to have a yoga teacher who would say that "Fear is the absence of being present. Unless a bear is chasing you or a gun is being held to your head, there's not much reason to be scared in the present moment. Especially not in downward dog."

I wish I could bottle this sentiment and sell it. But I know, given that plenty of people tried to instill this in me while I was going through it and I just. couldn't. get it. that, at the end of the day, there's no way out but through.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 2:39 PM 6 comments  

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If You Can Know Where You're Going, You've Already Gone.
Monday, June 16, 2008

Before I left NYC in July of 2004, I had spent the previous five years seeing every show there was to see on Broadway. I went to open dress rehearsals, got tickets to shows in previews, was given the Tony award tickets that my bosses couldn't use. After I moved that summer, I spent my time in NYC seeing friends, not shows. In the time between July 2004 and March 2008, I saw three shows. Three shows in three and a half years. I didn't even watch the Tony Awards last year.

Last night, as I sat watching (or should I say, weeping through) the Tony Awards, it occurred to me that it was quite possible that my lack of current knowledge about the NYC theater scene had been intentional.

Yes, it's true I am usually only in NYC for a long weekend. It's true that I rarely have the opportunity to go back for extended periods of time and that the majority of the people closest to me all live in that city. Time certainly played a role.

But more than anything, I think I couldn't. I couldn't keep track of the theater world because if I did, then I was wildly aware of what I was missing. If I continued to keep track - to read all the websites, the theater section of the NY Times - I was going to stay stuck. Upset that I wasn't there. That I had moved on.

So I left it behind.

I remember going to see Clay at the Kirk Douglas last fall and that feeling I got from seeing live theater again. Inspired. Invigorated. Excited. I knew that I couldn't leave that part of me behind anymore. I knew that instead, I had to just keep it tucked away for the time being.

In March we went to see August Osage County on a Friday and went to the opening of In the Heights on a Sunday. After three shows in three years, I was seeing two in one weekend. I felt like I did when my mom took me to see Peter Pan at the Colonial in Boston when I was five. Theater felt special again.

And when I sat in those audiences, I had this visceral reaction, one which I haven't had since I was 15 years old. It was the summer of 1988. I had gone to New York City with my camp to see The Phantom of the Opera. I watched the entire show perched on the edge of my seat. And at the end of the show, as is customary, the audience applauded. They applauded hard. Harder and harder with each actor that came on stage. And when Christine came out, the audience leapt to it's feet. The sounds of hands beating together swelled and all of a sudden, I realized I had tears streaming down my face. I couldn't stop it, I wasn't even aware that it had happened. The energy in that room was so overwhemingly HUGE in that moment...the actors on stage beaming, the audience in that moment giving back what it had received for the past three hours.

And that weekend, as I sat through the curtain calls of August Osage County and In the Heights, the tears rolled down my cheeks again. When the audience is just so electrified by what they've seen that the applause doesn't stop...I'm telling you - the beating of hands over and over again, so hard that your palms turn red, so incessantly to make certain that the recipients are clear that you are grateful for the three hours in which they just gave to you so fully and completely...It makes me explode. It's why I am madly and deeply in love with theater.

And then in May, a necessary trip to NYC for some family stuff, and the best surprise ever when my mom asked me if I wanted to try to see a show. Sunday in the Park with George. A show about art and artists and struggle and change. I have not stopped thinking about it since I heard these lyrics:
Stop worrying where you're going
Move on
If you can know where you're going
You've already gone...

I chose and my world was shaken
So what?
The choice may have been mistaken
The choosing was not
You have to move on

And once again, as the audience roared their thunderous appreciation of applause, for the third time in two months, the tears rolled down my cheeks. Thank you Mr. Sondheim.

I don't remember everything about the end of In the Heights - I know the last song was about being home, coming home...something along those lines. Those are the only words I can remember because the whole concept resonated so true for me. Sitting in the mezzanine at my first opening since I moved to Los Angeles, I felt the ease you experience when you share a glass of wine with your best friend, when you walk through the door into the house you grew up in and the smells of your mother's cooking waft through the halls, that sense of familiarity and pure comfort. I was home.

And last night, I cried my way through the Tony awards. I miss the theater. I miss the sense of community. I miss the art. Theater artists give blood, sweat and tears to put on a show. They are unbelievably grateful for the work they do, for the audience that comes to see them work. They write and rewrite and rewrite again. Not for weeks or months. For years. And those actors get up and perform live - eight shows a week. They recreate these crazy, insane, exuberant, ALIVE characters...every single night. There's nothing like the theater.

Look at what you want
Not what might have been
Only what could be

I miss the theater. It time to brush off that part of myself that's been tucked away and see what it wants to do. The lyrics of that song don't only mean what they seemed to initially...I heard them and thought about leaving things behind, focusing on the new. But sometimes moving on means refinding, redefining and recreating the old.

It's time to move on.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 2:30 PM 1 comments  

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Musings on a plane ride from coast to coast
Monday, May 12, 2008

Apparently Samantha is living in LA.

I found this out last night on the plane ride back from my 36 hour jaunt to Boston for Mother's Day. I bought Vogue because SJP graced the cover and even though I still mourn the fact that she's not half as cool in real life as Carrie is, I couldn't resist anything having to do with Sex and the City. Yes - that Samantha.

There is a line in the article that reads: In the story, all the girls have moved on: Samantha is living in L.A., Charlotte is settled in with her adopted Chinese daughter, and Miranda...is married and living in Brooklyn.

As I read "Samantha is living in L.A.", all of a sudden I had tears spilling over onto the page. I practically rolled my eyes at myself. It wasn't enough that I've cried EVERY SINGLE TIME that I've seen the trailer for this stupid movie. Now I was crying at a magazine article? What the hell???

Well, I'll tell you what the hell.

Things change. Even in Sex and the City things change. Yes, their lives were always constantly shifting - men, jobs, apartments. But through it all, they were together. In New York City. When Carrie moved to Paris for four episodes it was impossible that it would ever last...she was obviously going to move back. Because while everything else around them was constantly changing, Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte stayed put.

But things change. And Samantha goes to LA.

I got an email from a friend of mine who's still in college. She just got back from Semester at Sea. She wrote that she hasn't been able to stop crying since she got home. I felt the corners of my mouth turn up slightly in acknowledgment as I read her email. It wasn't a smile per se. It was an understanding. An ahhhhhh, yes. I recognize her ache. I have felt that too on so many occasions. The end of camp. The end of college. The end of a show. Moving to NYC. Moving from NYC. The end of wedding planning (ummm - RIDICULOUS but true.) It's the feeling of wondering how it could it possibly ever be better than this moment. The fear that it will never be as good as this again. And ultimately, the realization of exactly how special the moment you were just in actually is.

Things change. Samantha goes to LA. And I did too.

But here's the thing.

Those moments DO happen again. New ones. Even better than the last ones. Or sometimes different. We will forever long for those days (of college, of early 20's, of whatever...). Or I. I should say I. I'm speaking for me. But if I stayed in those moments that I end up mourning, I don't think it would stay special. I don't think I'd continue to appreciate it. And within those little microcosms, things would begin to change too.

So it's true that nothing lasts forever. That dreams change and trends come and go. But at the end of the day, the most important part of all of that is that the best friendships never ever go out of style. They, too, may change. Shift. Perhaps have growing pains. Some may fall by the wayside from missed communications or just growing up and growing apart. But there are people that just become a part of your chemical makeup. That I can say with the utmost certainty, will be a part of my life for the rest of it. No matter the location, no matter the situation. My Samantha and Charlotte and Miranda, my Anthony and my Stanford will be around. Forever.

Those friendships will never, EVER go out of style.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 5:27 PM 2 comments  

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A Love Letter to Ina
Monday, May 5, 2008

I read cookbooks. Like cover to cover.

This is a shock to me. I had no idea that I was going to grow up and be a cookbook reader.

This evening I came home from work and my Amazon.com shipment had arrived. It contained three books:

1. How'd You Score That Gig - a book that was promoted in my "Daily Cents" email and I just couldn't resist given my influx of career thoughts these days.

2. Colin Cowie's Chic- I recently bought this for a close friend for her birthday and it was nearly impossible not to keep it for myself. So I did the next best thing and bought myself one too. How do you resist a book with PERFECT advice on home, entertaining, travel, and work from one of the most fabulous gay men alive???

3. The Barefoot Contessa at Home- which brings me to this post. You know how Sesame Street is brought to you by a letter? Like the letter Q. or R. or any of the other 24 letters. This post is brought to you by the Barefoot Contessa.

When I opened the package, I stared at all three and contemplated - but I was immediately drawn to Ina. And I didn't just turn to the recipes. I wanted to read her introduction. I WANTED to. Ummmmm...I am a cookbook introduction reading 32 year old woman. AND I LOVE IT.

I'm only 40 pages into her 249 pages of delectable delights but I'm already dreaming of dinner parties with perfect margaritas (no margarita mix!!!!) and pan-fried french onion dip (made ENTIRELY from scratch) and most importantly lots and lots of laughing. And warmth. Ina talks about a home filled with warmth. Where people walk in and they feel like family. And that's why I love Ina. Sure, her recipes are amaaaaazing. Next level. Truly my favorites. I know if I cook Barefoot, I'm cooking a good meal. But the Ina's philosophy rings true for me even more:

"A good home should gather you up in its arms like a warm cashmere blanket, soothe your hurt feelings, and prepare you to go back out into that big bad world tomorrow all ready to fight the dragons....Sure it has to make (myself and my husband) feel comfortable, but equally important, it has to make my friends want to drop by."

This. This is the philosophy I want to live by. This is what life is about. Having a home that feels like a home to each and every person that comes here. With chairs that they can sink their bodies into and food they can sink their teeth into and conversation they can sink their souls into. This is what life is about.

I'm 32 and I read cookbooks. Excuse me now. I have to go finish...

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 8:48 PM 4 comments  

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This post brought to you by the grape Chardonnay
Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Why is it that we don't learn most of things we need to learn to help us through an experience until we've already been through that experience and sort of...in some way or another...screwed it up. It's true. You learn lessons from...well...lessons. You learn from doing. From being. From living. But that means that the living produces heartache and feelings of failure and confusion. You ask yourself what if you'd known that before you were here, in this moment? You wonder why the epiphany comes after the moment when you needed it most.

Is this just how life works? As Alanis once said, "You live, you learn. You breathe, you learn." Is that just how it is? So you do it better next time?

Are we simply who we are, the better and wiser versions of ourselves, because we make mistakes, because we fall down? Sometimes I'd just like to walk without tripping.

How do some people do it right the first time? Do they remember from past lives or something?

All thoughts on an evening of perhaps a bit too much chardonnay.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 10:35 PM 4 comments  

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Random musings from a jaunt to Starbucks
Tuesday, March 4, 2008

I grabbed a coffee before a meeting last night. Well, it was actually a tall nonfat extra hot decaf mocha and no, I can't say that or write it without laughing at how ridiculous that sounds. Clearly I was at Starbucks (not Coffee Bean because many of you know how i feel about that). So I'm waiting for my ridiculous cofee extravaganza and there's a book called "Beautiful Boy" sitting there as part of the whole Starbucks move to not only rule the world of coffee but also the world of entertainment. (And for the record, I do prefer the indie coffee establishments but every so often, I succumb to convenience.)

SO. I pick up this book, Beautiful Boy, which is a father's account of his son's struggles with meth addiction. I take a look at the inside flap and get sucked in. The book is an expansion of an article that Sheff wrote in the NY Times Magazine about how his "good kid" turned to a life of drug addiction and Sheff's OWN struggle with being addicted to saving his child. I'm already in and then I read this quote:

"Sheff's story is honest, reflective and deeply moving. Sadly, it is a story all too relevant for our troubled times. When one of us tells the truth, he makes it easier for all of us to open our hearts to our own pain and to that of others. That’s ultimately what Beautiful Boy is about: truth and healing." --Mary Pipher, Author of Writing to Change the World and Reviving Ophelia

I read it again. When one of us tells the truth, he makes it easier for all of us to open our hearts to our own pain and to that of others. I love this woman. I love this man for not being afraid to share himself so that others can feel less alone. I have been thinking about this since I read it last night.

Is it as true for all of you as it is for me? That at the end of the day, all I really want is to be surrounded by truth rather than smoke and mirrors and walls of perfection.

That's all.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 12:17 PM 4 comments  

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Structure
Friday, February 22, 2008

Lately it seems the thoughts are coming so quickly and rampantly that they start to overlap each other. They accelerate as though they're going downhill without breaks but by the time I get myself to the computer, they're gone. There are remnants, general themes left swirling around. But the lines of prose that popped into my brain as I walked down the street or watched my friends from a slight distance or breathed deeply in downward dog...they're all gone. Poof. Disappeared into thin air and I can't think of anything remotely smart or interesting to say.

Normally, the more I do, the more I want to do. I am stimulated by activity. But the writing is seemingly undone right now. I am invigorated and excited and exacerbated - all at the same time sometimes, but I'm struggling to translate it to the world, to words.

I think some of it stems from my lack on anonymity. There are things that I'm not sure I want to share with those that know me as much as I am willing to expose to the few dear readers I have that only know me from my words on the page. Because with those that are just a part of each others lives via the blogosphere, there are no attachments or expectations. We read each other because something grabs us. Because we can relate to each other or because we entertain. We experience new and different things through each other but also, we relate to each other and feel less alone. We sometimes live vicariously, but we also live parallely. There are no judgments or expectations. I feel good when something great happens for them. I can relate to many of their wants and hopes and fears. I read other blogs and they're anything but simple, but my relationship to them is simple. They are simply a name attached to a whole world that I get to know and see solely through their eyes. I read them with compassion and desire to know more. To understand who they are and what they are experiencing in their lives. Sometimes I long to reach through the internet and hug them, tight and close - the kind of hugs that people don't give often enough these days. Not one of those half hugs or the hug where they stand with their body about 200 feet away from yours and then gently tap you on the back with their other hand. Hugs are meant to wrap two people together. Sometimes I ache so deeply from the words of another person that I read that I want to wrap my affection around them and give them a hug. Sometimes they bring me to tears with their ability to expose themselves, to relate their worlds and their wants and their hurts and their triumphs so brilliantly.

It's actually quite simple. It all comes down to the ability to be vulnerable. And this is a medium that allows that in ways that being with other people sometimes does not. I'm aching for vulnerability these days. I rejoice in sitting with people who aren't afraid to admit that they don't have the answers. I am proud to be the person to ask for help. I love exploring life and the world with others. I feel stronger admitting that in moments I am weak. I am uninterested in putting on a good face - especially in this LA land of so many good faces under false pretenses. I don't live a perfect life (I know that's totally shocking...heh. heheh.) and I don't feel the need to pretend I do either. And I want to be around people who appreciate that. Because that is just real. And how do you truly squeeze all the juice out of life unless you're being real and true? I've liked my OJ fresh squeezed since I was 3 and I like my life that way too - pulp and even a few seeds here and there.

I told you - it's all swimming in there bursting to come out but unable to come together with beginnings, middles, and ends. But maybe that's because this is all just sort of open ended. In fact, I'd venture to say it's just the tip of the beginning.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:24 PM 1 comments  

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Me and the Fat Man
Thursday, January 31, 2008

Sometimes it feels like there's a fat man sitting on my chest. He's not bouncing up and down all jolly and happy and full of joy. He's on there pushing down, constricting me. Making fun of the fact that I don't know what I want, that I might just be a tad bit of a control freak, that I'm a little too logical. He laughs but it's not with me - it's most definitely at me and every time he laughs, he gets a little bit heavier, leaving me with less room to suck in air.

Sometimes it feels like there's a fat man sitting on my chest and I wish the world would understand me just a little bit better. And I wish I could explain me just a little bit better. And I wish that I didn't feel such a strong desire to be understood. And the harder I wish, the heavier the fat man gets.

Sometimes it feels like there's a fat man sitting on my chest, staring me in the face, his nose right next to mine. He glares directly into my eyes, refusing to back down, refusing to get off. My head starts to swarm from the lack of oxygen getting to my brain and I try to suck in a deep, full breath. But the fat man stays. And he laughs.

He says, "You should be anxious. You SHOULD feel panicked. You need to do it different! If I get up and leave, then you'll just be comfortable again and who wants comfortable for Christ's sake?" He glares at me, daring me to push him off, to tell him that he's wrong. To tell him that I don't need to take a few more risks, that everything is just as it should be. But he knows that I won't tell him that because he knows that I know that he is right.

Sometimes it feels like there's fat man sitting on my chest. He dangles his legs over the sides of my torso and eats a red velvet cupcake so that he can weigh down on me just a touch more. The knot in my throat gets tighter and I question myself, my choices, my path. He looks at me and I can tell that he thinks that I'm such a moron - that I care too much about what other people think. He sticks his big fat sweaty hands on my head and he pushes as hard as he can, making all the thoughts break off into fragments, making the walls feel like they're closing in.

Sometimes it feels like there's a fat man sitting on my chest and I want to stick a pin in his ass.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:55 PM 0 comments  

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Schizo
Tuesday, January 8, 2008

I'm having one of those days where I wonder why everyone else can do it better than I can. It doesn't matter what it is...I'm just convinced that all the other smart (which I know I am), creative (which I know I am), and let's not forget cute (which I know I am) 20 and 30-something girls have done it better.

Sometimes I'm a comparer. I have worked hard to break myself of this habit because I know that we all go at our own pace. There's no use looking at someone else and asking why you haven't gotten where they are because they do it their way and you do it yours. The zen version is that we all have our own paths. I know this in my head. I have told other people 50 million times. But today it doesn't matter how many times I tell myself too. Everyone else seems to have done it better and I've done it all wrong.

I have told myself time and again that I just haven't found my niche yet. That when I do, I will skyrocket the way that I believe I have the potential to do. It's actually sort of excruciating...this feeling of knowing that you have so much to offer and not knowing where to place those offerings so as to make yourself the happiest and to do the best work you can possibly do.

And to top it off, I seem to have gotten judgmental of my writing and I look at other blogs and I think that theirs is so much better. More creative, funnier, more poignant, more interesting, more everything than mine is (and in that completely irrational moment, ever possibly could be.) And I have to remind myself that I am creative and interesting and those people are too and for Christ's sake IT'S NOT A FREAKING COMPETITION! And I get to learn from reading other blogs and get ideas and get inspired, NOT FEEL LESS THAN! Because how productive is feeling less than??? NOT AT ALL.

The funniest part of this whole cycle is that I then end up asking myself why I can't be a person who doesn't think this way and I'm berating myself for having these less than thoughts in the first place YET I'M STILL SITTING THERE BEING HARD ON MYSELF.

Perhaps by writing this cycle down, I've found a way to laugh at it. Reading it on the page makes it look that much more ridiculous. My head knows that all the time. That's why I wrote this post to begin with. Because I am actually aware of the fact that I'm doing NO good for myself. But emotionally, it's how I feel. And sometimes, no matter how smart my head is, my heart wins because my emotional side feels things more strongly than my head can think them.

Wow. I sound schizophrenic.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 12:33 PM 1 comments  

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We do not remember days...
Monday, December 31, 2007

"We do not remember days, we remember moments." -- Cesare Pavase

I'm sure it's somewhat cliched to look back on the year on December 31st - so I'll be cliche. 2007 has been a gargantuan year. A bittersweet year. A life cycle year. A year of new beginnings and great endings. A year of moments.

Our wedding overlooking the mountains surrounded by love and light and everyone important in our lives.

The way the sun shone through the clouds on the day of my grandmother's funeral and the feeling of peace that I had with her death.

The news of several of my closest friends pregnancies - in Trader Joe's from Annie, in front of my house from Kelly, driving to work from Kate.

An Italian dinner at Frankie's that celebrated the women in my life.

Making my grandmother laugh in the hospital.

Sitting in Montalcino sucking up fat spaghetti with cherry tomatoes and garlic and olive oil with everything so fresh, you could practically taste the soil.

Days in LA where I missed New York so much that it actually hurt. And days where I was glad to be in the sunshine of Los Angeles instead of the cold and bleary days back east.

Days with friends that I never wanted to end.

So many moments - they run together. Some of them too wonderful for words and some of them too painful. It has been a year of wonderful new beginnings and difficult losses and painful lessons. And growth - it has most certainly been a year of growth. I have had a year of tremendous support from family and friends and a year where I've stopped realling knowing what the difference is between the two. It has been a year of getting to know myself in a way that I feel so much better for. So much stronger for. A year of learning to judge less and to understand more. A year of standing up for what I deserve. A year of saying goodbye to bad habits. A year of change.

When I think of 2007, and I think of that scene from Parenthood where the grandmother is talking about life being a rollercoaster with incredible ups and downs. That was 2007. A perfect swirl of colors and lights and sounds with the camera of my life just spinning and spinning.

But I must say, with the last month of 2007 has come tremendous peace and calm. And that's how I'll begin 2008. I wish all of you a year filled with dreams come true. A year filled with fantastic and beautiful moments.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:20 PM 0 comments  

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