Celebrate Your Life

I had the great good fortune to spend time with some dear friends in New York City this weekend--a trip that was good for my heart and soul. I laughed until my belly ached and my mascara smudged many times. We talked and talked and talked and talked, and a recurring theme was the idea that each of us should celebrate our lives.

So often I get messed up by looking at what other people have, and either wanting it for myself, or thinking that I should want it, or wondering why I don't want it, when really, if I can refocus on my own life and my own choices, I have so much to celebrate.

So today I celebrate the fact that I have Tuesdays and Thursdays to work on my book, to take care of myself, to refresh my creativity with artist dates, to catch up with friends, to cook, to read, to write letters and blog entries. I celebrate the fact that Carl and I just booked a trip to Puerto Rico, somewhere I've always wanted to go. I celebrate my ability to surf which is steadily improving, my improving fitness, the time and space I've given myself to write, my ever-improving manuscript. I celebrate my house, my job, my friends and family. I even celebrate the difficulties, through which I learn so much.

What in your life can you celebrate?

Standing at the Edge of the Unknown

I found out yesterday that it was pretty likely that my job would end on April 1. That, along with some other recent changes in my life have me feeling agitated. I’ve been trying to live with the agitation, to acknowledge it and accept it. They say acceptance leads to serenity, and they’re right. I just can’t always get there.

Speaking with a friend this morning about these changes he said that standing at the edge of the unknown is turbulent. He added that we make it worse for ourselves by imagining worst case scenarios—like I’ll never get another job I like, I’ll never finish the book, Carl and I will lose our house, etc etc. (Not that I’ve thought any of those things, but you know, one could.) My friend concluded by saying it would be better if we could look toward the unknown not with dread but with curiosity. After talking to him I thought maybe I can take it a step further and feel hope—hope that whatever comes after this job will be great, will be joyful, helpful, the thing that I need.

My current job turned out to be the thing that I needed, a thing that really helped me in many ways. It helped me make some money, feel some relief from financial worry. It helped me to get back into the workforce, to try a schedule where I had a job and had some responsibility while still working on the book. It allowed me to see lawyers in a positive light again. It may have even piqued my interest in doing legal work again. So if this job could do all this for me, what might another job do? Might it not be great? Be just the thing I need?

Maybe I can take it even one step further and try to be grateful for the unknown, for the new possibilities that shimmer just out of sight, and even for the turbulence, which at least isn’t boring. I am grateful that I no longer see my life stretching out ahead of me in a straight and predictable line. It’s good to have some mystery, some unknown. Isn’t that what keeps life interesting?

Don't Think, Just Do

The down side of my overactive imagination is that I can vividly imagine how hard things are going to be. For example, if I start thinking about going to the gym, I see myself changing clothes, getting in the car, suffering through a work out, coming home and showering, which when put all together in my mind seems like too much. Last week I heard someone say, "Don't think, just do," in reference to this very gym scenario. "Thinking is a trap," she said. "Just get your butt there." This is a smart person, a wise person, so this week, every time I got stuck thinking about going to the gym, I told myself, "don't think, just do." And it worked.

Drunk with success, I tried applying it to my writing. When I've found myself going down the mental road of "I don't want to write, I don't feel like it, I can't do it today, I don't know what to say, I don't know what to do next, I hate the stupid book, why did I ever begin this anyway, etc etc" I have told myself, "Don't think, just do." Here too, it works! The other morning I woke up and saw a piece of the manuscript on my night stand. I had never once tried to work on the book in bed, but I figured what the hell? Just do. So I started reading, and worked very happily for about an hour, lying in bed, in my pjs. What a gorgeous way to start my day.

This morning I woke up later than I wanted and didn't have time to do anything before I left for work. But I grabbed a few chapters and read them on the train. Snatching moments here or there to work on the book has been adding up to good work, good progress and good feelings. For the first time in awhile, I feel forward momentum again. Oh how I have missed you, forward momentum! Don't think, just do has spared me the agony that attends the procrastination. It has helped me get over that hump that feels insurmountable some days--the hump of beginning. Once I've begun I'm almost always happy, so why is it so hard to start? I don't know. But I'm going to use this trick for as long as it keeps working.

Disney Hangover

I’ve had a Disney hangover since we returned from Florida last week. Part sadness, part exhaustion, part common cold, part reluctance to return to reality, part inability to process the experience. We packed so much into five days that like a liver on New Year’s Day, my soul is struggling to process the experience.

I’ll spare you the blow by blow—it would exhaust you just to read it—and rather just list some favorites. My favorite sound of the trip wasn’t Finding Nemo, When You Wish Upon a Star, or God forbid, It’s a Small World Afterall, but rather the sound of the lovely Sophia, now 21 months old, saying “Hi Julie!” with the sweetest exuberance ever heard, 400 times a day. My favorite sight? The giggling nervous excitement of the three kids waiting to hug Winnie the Pooh, Tigger, Piglet and Eeyore ties with the sweet, trusting look of 13-year-old Alyssa when she asked me to sit next to her at dinner. My favorite touch? The feel of Sophie taking both of my hands in hers once the Buzz Lightyear ride started. My favorite taste? The Prosecco from “Italy,” the crazy almond covered sweet pretzel from “Norway” and a surprisingly good grilled veggie sandwich on olive bread with sun-dried tomato paste from a fast food stand at Hollywood Studios. My favorite smell? The roses that bloom everywhere in Epcot, even in January. Yes, I stopped to smell them.

Add to the above the shared stories, meals, walks, bus rides; the shared adrenaline rush of Everest, Rock n Roller Coaster, Tower of Terror; talking and laughing with Andy and Nat at the beach; chasing Sophie down the hall as she laughed her head off; trying out castanets and headdresses with Alyssa, and you’ll get a fuller, yet still incomplete picture of what made the trip so special.

So why sad? For one thing, knowing that Sophie woke up in California the morning after she’d gotten home and said, “Mommy, I go see Julie now.” If that’s not bittersweet, I don’t know what is. Coming back to a cold, gray, snowy Philly doesn’t help matters. Neither does the block I have against working on the book. And though I know I couldn’t have kept up the Disney schedule much longer, though I know I have to get back into my routine, to my structure, and yes, to work, it still feels hard to accept that my world no longer revolves around what time Illuminations starts.

I know there are Disney haters out there and I can understand that. But as an artist, I have a lot of admiration for the imagination and vision of Walt Disney and the Disney corporation. Say what you want about it, but Disney knows how to put on a show. They know how to create characters that people relate to and love. They know how to tell stories, create spectacle, and to create a world so magical that people spend thousands of dollars just to spend a little time within it. And God bless them, they know how to market.

Is their marketing to children nefarious? Are we all just hostage to the influence of their evil advertising? I don’t know, maybe that’s part of it. Maybe I should protest, resist. The younger Julie did. But now I think, if all of my in-laws love going to Disney World, and I have a great time every time we go, why fight it? Why not suspend cynicism and disbelief for a few days and just enjoy? More and more it feels like how much I enjoy myself wherever I am is up to me. So I decided to have a great time in Disney World, and I did. And yes, I came home with a pink Mickey Mouse t-shirt, which reminds me to take life a little less seriously, try to be more child-like, and believe in the magic, at least some of the time.

Crossroads

Today I’m thinking writing a novel is like solving a Rubix cube. It seems like every time I change one little thing, it affects the rest of the work, like just when you'd have one whole side all red, but then try to line up the yellow and mess it all up.

I’m at what feels like a crossroads with the novel. One of my major characters and plot points isn’t working very well. I’ve added detail, subtracted detail. I’ve examined it closely, given it time to breathe, come back to it, and still, it isn’t right. Which makes me think that maybe it doesn’t belong in the book. And it’s getting hard to move forward until I make a decision about it, but I’m scared to make a decision because of the affect that decision will have on the rest of the book. What if I choose wrong? What if in six months I think, oh, I need that character to be a major part of the plot again? What if it means rewriting the rest of the book? Or even just big chunks of it?

Ai yai ai. I guess in the end, writing a novel is a giant act of faith, and all I can do is make a decision based on what I think right now, or put off a decision until I feel some clarity. I think it would help to pan back, look at the big picture of the book again, and think about how this character or story line fits into the main plot, what it adds (if anything), if it feels necessary to the story. Too much of that kind of thinking about the book can paralyze me. I can get overwhelmed by looking at the overall work, by thinking too big. But maybe if I do it just today and maybe a little tomorrow, then put it aside for a few days, maybe that will help. Maybe I'll try asking for some clarity. It's amazing how sometimes if I just ask for something I receive it.

So maybe, like with the Rubix cube, where you often have to wreck one side that looks perfect to achieve your ultimate goal, maybe here I have to wreck something that I thought was good to get closer to my goal of telling Laura Gallagher's story in a compelling way. I can't include everything about her entire life, not in 300 odd pages. Choices have to be made. Is it possible the novel is teaching me about decisiveness too? Even if I'm afraid of what's around the corner, won't I learn from it either way? Isn't that what matters?

I Pity the Fool

Before the holidays I was stuck in self-pity, feeling grumpy, suffocated, trapped. I had a case of “If only we lived in Spain, everything would be better.” And though wallowing in self-pity has a certain satisfaction, maybe because of the illusion that I am a passive victim, and therefore can’t do anything about my misery, after about a week I got tired of my own whining. As I often do, I looked to Julia Cameron for comfort, found an essay on self-pity in one of her books. She said that eventually we will get sick of self-pity and ask “What can I do about it?” I slept on that thought Saturday night, woke up on Sunday, did yoga, then meditated. With a rarely calm mind and body I called to mind the many things in my life that work right now. Here’s a partial list:

1) My creative life. Not only am I writing the book and the blog, I’m exploring other art forms and nurturing my inner artist.

2) My job. Somehow, miraculously, I found the perfect job for me right now. I like what I do, I like the people I work with and the work environment, and maybe most of all, I love how my three day work schedule allows me to keep writing and gives me time and space to continue most of the things I loved about my no-job life.

3) My family. Almost all of my family is in the Philly area, and I get to see them a lot. I get to go to my cousin’s birthday parties. I get to see my Uncle Ed, Aunt Mary Lou and Grandmom around town. I get to have dinners with my parents, girls’ days with my niece, double-dates with my brother and his wife.

4) Ocean City, NJ. It’s hard to feel grateful for the shore this time of year, when I can’t go in the water, and hardly even get there, but our proximity to the beach and access to my parents’ beach house is one of the great blessings of my life.

5) My friends. Not only do I live within a few miles of some of my oldest and dearest friends, I’ve made some truly nurturing new friendships over the past year.

6) Narberth. My one-square-mile town has the world’s best almond croissant, boutiques that sell original art from local artists, a giant mosaic mural, a magical cheese shop, some down-home pubs, a fine restaurant, a few thrift and consignment stores, a talented florist, an old-school five and dime, and the best 4th of July celebration of any small town anywhere. And we gorgeous giant old trees. Loads of them.

7) Philly. I went out last week for an artist date, with fresh eyes, into University City. I wandered around Penn’s campus and discovered some amazing pieces of art and architecture. College Hall, made of travertine stone—an eerie and beautiful green, looking like a castle that belongs on wind-tossed moor in Wales rather than in West Philadelphia, ignited the imagination. A photo exhibit about Nigeria transported me back to Africa. A small Cuban café fed body and soul with a warm latte and an impromptu drum performance. Joy and laughter seeped into me at the University City Arts League, where I went with a group of children to the land “Where the Wild Things Are.” All of these things are in Philly and of Philly. Perhaps the best blessing of that day was the idea that my own city has untold wonders waiting to be discovered, if I can approach it with the fresh eyes of a visitor, at least occasionally.

It was good and necessary to remember what a full and rich life I have. But that wasn’t enough. Self-pity is a signal that something isn’t quite right. With my still-quiet mind, I realized that I need more fun and more exercise in my life, and then I felt immense relief. I don’t have to go to Spain for exercise or fun. So I investigated and joined a gym, where I went for a long overdue swim, feeling my soul expand the way it only does in the water. I’ve done some cardio workouts since, gaining not only those lovely endorphins, but also some insight into the book, better sleep, and more peace in general. So the more exercise is already paying off. Next step: more fun. What can I do for fun other than surf? Suggestions please!

I Love New Yor-or-ork

My love affair with New York has been long, and like any long-term relationship, full of ups and downs. But right now, I feel like we're on our second honeymoon, The City and I. It all began when I was little, the first time my parents brought me to their company’s annual meeting in Manhattan. We stayed at the Marriott Marquis, right in Times Square. With all of New York City at our feet, nothing compared to the crazy spaceship-like all glass superspeed elevators, like something out of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. But I also remember Rockefeller Center, the Christmas tree and decorations, ice skating. I remember FAO Schwartz, ribbon candy from Fannie Mae, an exotic pizza place called Sbarro's.

The affair continued in my teen years when I set off with two friends for a day trip to New York. We took Septa to Trenton and NJ Transit into the big city. We went to the top of the Empire State Building, to Macy’s, to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. We posed in front of the bull on Wall Street, a hand on each of the bull's butt cheeks.

And then I was ready to commit, to take the relationship to the next level--I moved it. Three years I spent living in the Bronx, exploring all five boroughs, and when college was over and I moved to California, I left feeling I had unfinished business, sure I would be back. We were on a break, but not breaking up I told myself.

But after a year on the West Coast, I had changed. I told New York it was me, not it. I settled in Philly, tried to keep up an affair with NYC, going to visit what seemed like every month for years. But like any long distance relationship, the distance took its toll. Time between visits grew larger and larger. I felt I didn't even know New York anymore.

Then this summer, I felt a taste of that old infatuation again. After a long weekend in August, attending the U.S. Open, staying in my friend's gorgeous West Village apartment (the same friend who planted his hand on the bull's butt cheek fifteen years ago) I wanted more. Suddenly New York had the old draw, the hypnotic appeal that lured me there in the first place. I just wanted to be in it.

A brief visit in November was just a tease. Only time to drive by Louis Vuitton, Tiffany's, Bergdorf's--places I've never visited, but in my new rosy view of the city added to its appeal. More, I needed more! So we returned last weekend. Visited some of my favorite places--the New York Botanical Gardens, where we saw the miniature New York, made of botanical materials for the Train Show (pictured above). We ate on Arthur Ave, at Ann and Tony's, one of my favorite Italian restaurants, and walked Fordham's campus, providing me some visceral memories of what it was like to be 18, 19, 20, 21 in New York City.

And then we ventured to an unknown part of New York, somewhere I'd always wanted to go--Coney Island.

What's happening in Coney Island on a Sunday morning in December? Not much. A handful of people walking on the beach and boardwalk. An icy wind blowing from the sea, stinging my skin through my pants. Sea shells mixed with broken glass and cigarette butts on the sand. Horseshoe crabs. Growling Rottweilers guarding amusement parks behind barbed wire. Boarded up windows. A sign that says "Shoot the Freak Paint Ball - Live Human Targets." A tree decorated with plastic bags. Customers in the original Nathan's Hot Dogs at 9:30 am.

I was surprised that it was a beach. I didn't know the Atlantic Ocean came right up to New York City like that. Do people lie on the beach there? Swim in the water? Surf? I don’t know. But I left with even greater love for New York. Because where else can you find Coney Island? What other city has so many places, so dear to me, and also an endless variety of new places to see and explore?

Me and New York. We're totally back together.