Still Beating

It's been a great year of personal growth. My accomplishments weren't based in professional or individual goals, however. This year wasn't about reaching. It was about appreciating. It was about slowing down and accepting. Ironically, the process became the conduit for a lot of positive acceleration. Two-thousand-nine was filled with several life-changing "firsts."

First, I learned how certain challenges can be an excellent impetus for change. This year, I pushed myself in ways I never have. I went hot air ballooning, started my novel and joined a writers’ group. Through submitting a piece for a short story contest, I discovered PNN, a wonderful online writers' community. I volunteered for a charity bicycle ride supporting cancer survivors. I discovered kayaking and rode a motorcycle for the first time. I traveled to Anchorage, Miami and (twice!) Seattle.

My friendships have deepened. My family and I enjoy an easier, more laidback relationship. I've grown by returning. I've learned peace not by looking backwards or straining forwards but by rediscovering the "whole" inside all along. It doesn't mean happiness is constant, however. Once you accept yourself fully, you'll simply understand yourself better and more effectively learn from past mistakes. There will still be bad days, but you'll value them in a different way and subsequently learn how to manage your faults more efficiently.

On that note, I’m quite pleased I had a chance to wander West again for my 28th birthday. At times I felt more at home in Seattle than I do in my native Connecticut! The night before my birthday, I met PNN's Hali and Cheryl at Chopstix Piano Bar. The ladies were as warm and engaging as their blogs suggest. The evening's highlight was my birthday serenade to the Righteous Brothers' "You've Lost that Loving Feeling." (I look forward to getting it back)! ;)

Earlier that day, I took a road trip exploring eastern Washington with friend-cum-tour-guide Joy Laydback and her equally spirited young daughter. I savored the varied geography, from the Cascades’ snow-capped pines to the canyons framing the Columbia River. There is nothing like the West's mountains, the open space and abiding sense of freedom.

I'm looking ahead to what’s next by making the most of what's “now.” Always know the now, because the "now" determines the future. I once used the future to define the present. Happiness, however, only exists in the moment.


Yes, I was in my glory. ;)

Kids once made me nervous. The last time I held a baby, I was cradling my now 17-year-old nephew. Then, last week in Seattle, I spent a day sightseeing with my friend Joy Laydback and her eight-year-old daughter, Epona. Everything changed.

When they knocked on my hotel room door, I had more butterflies than I do on a first date. “Hello,” I said shyly. Epona’s warm little face broke into a toothy grin, green eyes brimming with mischief. And I fell in love. By the time we’d pulled onto the highway, Epona and I had chatted about her travels (“San Diego is so cool!”) and what she likes about Seattle (“The scenery.").

I’ve always had an affinity for the West. Its physical openness renders a unique sense of freedom. After twenty minutes of driving on I-90, I caught my first glimpse of “real” mountains—the Cascades. Beneath dark sunglasses, my vision blurred with tears. I had never seen something so majestic up close. “Wow,” I mumbled. “Just…wow.”
“What’s your favorite color, pink or yellow?” Epona asked suddenly.
“Yellow.”
We stopped for gas. I got out and snapped about thirty pictures of the same peak. As I slid back into the front seat, Epona presented me with a giant picture of—you guessed it—the word “Wow!”—flanked by three smiling figures. I couldn’t remember the last time a child made me a drawing. Epona captured the moment perfectly. Children have a knack for reminding grown-ups to “know the Now.”

We drove about 150 miles into the country, witnessing three distinct landscapes: pine forest, snowy mountains and desert canyons. A highlight was hiking to the top of a small cliff dotted with sculptures of wild mustangs. On the way down, it was so steep Epona and I had to slide on our butts. “It feels good!” Epona cried happily, clouds of dust spilling around us. “It’s like a butt massage!” I laughed, no longer caring about the gravel biting into my hands or the soil staining my jeans. Heading back to the car, Epona started running. “Why do you run?” I asked rhetorically. “I run when I’m happy,” she said simply. I often burst into a run, too, when I’m excited about something. Certain things never change.

“So, what are you studying in school?” I asked Epona on the way back. “Math,” she said. I learned she was doing basic multiplication. “What’s two and two?” I quizzed, amused by the irony of giving math lessons when I scored a 500 on the math portion of the SAT. “Four,” Epona answered promptly. About an hour later, I noticed how quiet she was. “How you doin’ back there?” I asked. “Good,” she replied, distracted. Returning to Seattle’s outskirts, Epona presented her latest creation: multiplication tables. “Can you check my work?” she asked. I ended up correcting her paper. “You did great!” I said.

We returned to Joy’s condo shortly after nightfall. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt such joy, nor so laidback (sorry, couldn’t resist), especially with a girl young enough to be my daughter. It’s been said children are an excellent barometer of reality. If they say you look tired, you probably do. If they act happy, it’s because they genuinely are. They’re still innocent from the world’s looming expectations threatening to seize their confidence by pre-adolescence. I hope Epona retains her peaceful, carefree spirit no matter how old she is. The older we are, the more important it is to remember to act like a child: free, nonjudgmental and happy “as is.”

The Link Between Lust And Love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My skin burned with shame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s about growth and the proverbial journey.

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

I felt like taking a break from the book tonight but was definitely in a writing mood. As I look around, candles lit, fingers still slightly pruney from my bath, I thought about a “few of my favorite things.” It’s the sort of seemingly banal stuff that makes a tough day easier. It also makes our relationships with one another a lot more fun.

Here’s the short list. And away we go!

In no particular order:

-Bubble Baths

-Candles

-A Book You Just Can’t Put Down

-Mountains

-Bicycling
(Bicycling is to a bath what running is to a shower. Both are a good form of exercise, but biking is a great way to see and experience a lot more.)

-Motorcycles (Preferably Harleys) ;)
(I never thought riding a 300 lb hunk of metal would be so simultaneously relaxing and invigorating).

-Kayaking

-Rain
(See, this is why I belong in Seattle. ;) I love a good rainy day, windows all smeary, tucked inside warm and safe).

-Autumn

-Apple Crisp

-Apple Butter

-Pumpkin or Apple Pie (Tied)

-Carrot Cake

-Banana Bread

-Earl Grey

-Vanilla Soft-Serve Ice Cream

-Slow Kisses

-Open Fireplaces

-Massages
(I like to get a professional massage every so often. I got a mother-daughter package this past Mother’s Day and my mom and I really enjoyed it).

-A Star Filled Night Sky In The Middle of Nowhere

-Snow

-Snowball Fights

-Sledding

-Tiny Blue Christmas Lights

-Any Object Bearing A Happy Face

-You Tube

-Braveheart

-Music

-Dancing
(But not usually in front of people, since I tend to jerk my head like (a) those Night at the Roxbury guys from SNL or (b) a chicken).

-Chickens
(Of course)

-Alpaca Wool

-Red Roses
(Classic)

-Lingerie
(May seem like TMI, but let me step on my soapbox for just one quick second. Whether it’s silky nightgowns, push-up bras, plaid thongs ;) or whips and chains….we often undervalue or undermine our own sexuality. We may feel “fat” or have a cheap Porn Star view of sex (not that there’s anything wrong with porn). But, all joking aside, there is nothing more painfully vulnerable and subsequently beautiful than having a connection with someone you could fall in love with—if you haven't already. As a result, there is nothing funnier and more fun to mock than sex. After all, it’s all about having fun and not taking each other or life—including sex—too seriously.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

We nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t you love a day full of (good) surprises? After an afternoon doing laundry following a rather hectic week, I realized my pantry was literally empty (save two cans of tunafish, useless without bread). I needed food, and I needed to go grocery-shopping, stat.

Outside it was excellent football weather, crisp and sunny. I felt almost festive driving downtown to grab a bite. As I approached the Town Green, I noticed giant tents covering the lawn. I grinned. Milford always seems to have something going on. During the summer, I often wanted to simply park somewhere and walk around. Now I had the chance.

After parking at the library and inhaling a six-inch roast beef at Subway, I darted across the street. Stuffing my sandwich wrapper into a trashcan, I headed tent-ward. It turns out there was a sizeable art show going on. In fact, it was the best one I’ve ever gone to. Most vendors were from Connecticut. Quite a few were Milford residents. I loved chatting folks up, admiring the photography, paintings, mosaics and jewelry.

I even bought two pieces from two very different artists. Bruce Dumas is a construction worker-cum-painter specializing in stunning landscapes. I love rural scenes and pieces that capture the contrast between light and dark. Much of Dumas’ work features farms. I instantly loved a piece a depicting a silo against a winter sunset in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I decided to look around and return to buy it if it was still there.

Meandering on, I visited photographer Charles E. Hull of Rhode Island.

“Oh my God!” I gasped, studying a detailed picture of a tree at sunset. “These are amazing! Are these paintings?”

Hull chuckled. “If it was a painting it wouldn’t cost thirty dollars,” he said dryly.

I felt myself turning red. “Well, they’re great,” I said. “How do you do it? They look like you’ve painted them.”

Hull went on for a while about how he printed his photographs on a special type of canvas. Meanwhile, all I could think of was how I had to have that damn tree on my wall. I’ve been looking for pieces to cover the large space above my bed. At the same time, I’ve been weary of hanging a big, heavy painting that could fall and crush me in the middle of the night. ;) But this piece was small and light and….yes, perfect. I pulled out my checkbook.

Walking back toward the Dumas tent, I thought about how lovely the farm painting would look next to the tree. I liked how the sunset theme fit the bedroom’s character. After all, they were end-of-day scenes, evening scenes. The warm yellows and blues would contrast nicely to the taupe color on my wall…..

Returning to the car, I thought of how Dumas had done various odd jobs until talent, determination and luck turned his passion into a fulltime gig. It took him years to get there. I have friends who are excellent artists, talented enough to hopefully someday make a living at it. I also know firsthand how “real life,” like paying the bills, can interfere with making those dreams true. Nevertheless, I’m confident they can do it if they keep the faith. Yes, you can open that studio! The only block, ultimately, is you.

I reflected on the first time I went to my writers’ group. During our first meet-up I was concerned I might not "fit in" with my composition notebook. I wasn't sure if most people would bring laptops or something different. It turned out everyone had notebooks. I marveled at the idea of Writer As Specimen. Look, there's another one!

I definitely will publish my novel(s) someday (to great success of course). ;) I also believe in my friends. I believe they can take their passions as far as they desire, if they believe hard enough. After all, you only go around once (as a human, at least. Not sure about the whole Buddhist thing. We might return as a bee or something). ;) I think about my childhood celebrity crush, Jim Carrey, burying a check for ten million dollars in his father’s casket years before he became a star. If you believe it, you can do it. In the meantime, dream on….

To learn more about Charles E. Hull visit:
http://www.cehullphotography.com/

To learn more about Bruce Dumas visit:
http://bruceadumas.com/index.html

This has been a banner year for pop culture. After a summer in which we lost Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson the same day, Patrick Swayze lost his fight against pancreatic cancer. His passing happened a mere 24 hours after Kanye West humiliated himself on national television.



Although people tend to dismiss celebrity gossip as a waste of time, it's a driving force bringing people together. Exhibit A: We're now having a national debate over President Obama's "off-the-record" description of Kanye West. While many called the self-anointed hip-hop legend far worse, Jackass-gate is now threatening to undermine the issue of national healthcare. (Remember Monica Lewinsky? Scandalous bad behavior is just so much sexier than life-changing legislature).

Having worked in newsrooms, I can attest there is nothing more compelling than a real-life soap opera. As for Obama, do I believe his comment should have been protected? Absolutely not! He was in a public place in mixed company and when you're a public figure your personal life essentially becomes public. Sorry, folks, in 2009 it's just par for the course.

As for Patrick Swayze, I grew up watching Dirty Dancing and count Ghost among my favorite films. I'm saddened by the loss. I'm also struck by how quickly the industry's biggest stars can fade into obscurity. My twenty-four-year-old coworker didn't know who Swayze was. By the time his final work aired, the television miniseries Beast, Swayze was no longer the Brad Pitt-watt star he was in 1990. Nevertheless, he enjoyed a long career, was loved by many, seemed genuinely happy and even stayed married to the same woman for 34 years without turning into Octo-Mel.

Kanye, are you taking notes?

My friend just sent me this fantastic cartoon. Yeah, Livejournal's a little 2002 but hey, admit it. You can relate. ;)

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

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

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

It’s been an amazing year. Over the past few months I’ve soared above Connecticut in a hot air balloon, fallen in love with Seattle, discovered a passion for motorcycles and learned a new way to become Zen: kayaking. In July I met a lovely woman while volunteering for the Connecticut Challenge, a charity bike ride supporting cancer survivors. She emailed me a few weeks ago about an upcoming kayaking fundraiser. I’d been struggling to plan a trip with friends, hindered by scheduling and cost. Now I had an opportunity to “Yak” twenty minutes from home!

“Sunset Paddling, Wine and Cheese” was sponsored by Downunder Kayaking, a Rowayton-based shop nestled in Norwalk harbor. Proceeds benefitted Harbor Watch, a water monitoring program run by Earthplace, a nature center in Westport. I successfully pitched the story to the Westport News, a local newspaper I’ve written for in the past. Game on!

I’ve always loved the water. Kayaking was an activity I'd always been curious about. By the time I arrived at the dock last Thursday afternoon, the warm September sunshine had vanished. The air had turned sharp, skies gray. Zipping up my bright green windbreaker, I wondered if I’d be warm enough. (I tend to get cold if it's under 80 degrees). ;) I was wearing a fitted T-shirt and Yoga pants over a bikini, bare feet tucked into boat shoes.


















I lowered myself into a sea kayak the same apple-green shade as my jacket. Admittedly, I was a little nervous. What if I capsized? What if I couldn’t paddle well? While my legs are strong from years of biking and elliptical training at the gym, I often compare my upper body to a T. Rex. My arms are small, spindly and essentially useless. Then again, I’ve managed to lift a fifty pound bag of chicken feed without too much trouble. Maybe I could do it after all.

Fortunately, slicing through the water with a long, light “Yak” paddle was a lot easier than lugging a giant sack of cornmeal. I was on top of the water.

I was on top of the world.

When it was time to return to the docks I still wanted to stay out, exploring the Five Mile River until I couldn't see through the dusk.

I strongly recommend kayaking to anyone who hasn’t tried it. The sense of peace and empowerment is truly Zen-like. (Paddling itself is very rhythmic. You might even fall asleep).

Next I’d like to spend a few hours on Long Island Sound. Kayaks are minimally invasive and can float in as little as five inches of water. I loved spotting swan and even pigeons in a way I never could in a motorboat. Trips generally cost about $40 for up to three hours. If you live by a body of water and want to try something new, definitely plan a trip! Here in New England, I only have until early October before the season ends. I’d love to fit in one more trip! Who's in? ;)

My favorite season is almost here and I'm already feeling the positive effects. I like the idea of people favoring the season they were born in; a lack of consistent evidence fails to support the theory. Nevertheless, my birthday is in November and I no doubt feel most alive, most exuberant, in autumn.

Tonight I finally used the Pier One gift certicates I recieved at my June housewarming. This year I'm giving my new place a fall wardrobe of red-and-gold throw pillows and a cheerful floral doormat. Also, I've become so taken with my George Foreman grill I take pictures of the food I cook. As well as gratuitous shots of myself on the couch. Yes, June Cleaver has stolen my soul and I'm currently "nesting."














Sure, it's a touch ironic: everything's dying. But I see autumn more like a brilliantly colored path toward rebirth. This is, after all, the time of "back-to-school" and the Jewish New Year. I find this time of year a great period for reflection, an opportunity to make changes you're more likely to keep now than in the dead of winter on New Year's Day.

...Today I spotted my first cluster of orange leaves in an oak tree. Soon it will be time for apple picking and pumpkin carving. I can't wait!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Incident-al Growth

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a long time I’ve wanted to ride a motorcycle, drawn by the roguish appeal of screaming down a highway atop hundreds of pounds of scorching metal, scant inches from the ground. One of my good friends is a seasoned motorcyclist. Today I took my maiden voyage on his beloved Harley. His girlfriend, also a good friend, followed in her car to capture the moment on camera.

The Night Before…

My friend gave me some tips via Instant Messenger:

Tzi(9:08:56 PM): gonna make this short and sweet
Tzi (9:08:59 PM): hi by the way
Tzi (9:09:11 PM): tomorrow..
Tzi (9:09:19 PM): jeans...not the ass showing ones...
Tzi (9:09:35 PM): sneakers
Tzi (9:10:22 PM): ...or sturdy boots...and NO SCREAMING

Later that night my friend’s girlfriend and I exchanged emails extolling the wisdom of 80s hair bands….in this case, Night Ranger:

From: "K”
To: “Larissa”
Subject: Night Ranger Said It Best
“Sister Christian, oh the time has come
And you know that you're the only one to say, okay
But you're motoring
Yeah, motoring!”

From: "Larissa”
To: “K”
Subject: RE: Night Ranger Said It Best
“Sister Christian
There’s so much in life
Don’t you give it up
Before your time is due
It’s true”

Interestingly, “Sister Christian” played on K's car radio on her way to meet us. The motorcycle adventure was significant because I’ve never been the adventurous type. Growing up, whenever something didn’t come easily, I rejected it. If forced to do it, I froze up so I inevitably failed. But there are many things in life that don’t come easily. Does that mean we shouldn’t do them? Or does that mean resistance only exists in our minds?

It’s Already 8 a.m.?!!?
My cell phone buzzed just after 8 a.m.
“Hullo,” I said, still sleepy. “Is this my wake up call?”
“It is!” my friend chirped.
"I was wondering if you were going to give me one.”
“Don’t eat breakfast," she warned.
“So I don’t throw up on the motorcycle?” I deadpanned. “Oh, wait…so we can have breakfast together?”
“Exactly.”
“Okay…see you soon.”
I threw off the covers, feeling pretty damn carpe diem for a Saturday morning.

"The only Zen you can find on the tops of mountains is the Zen you bring up there."
---Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
A few months ago I went hot-air ballooning in part to conquer my fear of heights. I thought riding a motorcycle would feel similar: exciting, albeit unnerving. Following my friend’s advice, I leaned with him into every turn. Each movement was fluid, simultaneously exhilarating and peaceful. By the time we reached the diner, I couldn’t wait to eat and get back on the bike.



After breakfast I suggested following my friend’s girlfriend to her office. (We work at the same company). I pictured my coworkers’ amused reactions to my arrival, alien-like in my oversized helmet, straddling a vehicle that outweighed me by about 450 pounds. Roaring down the highway, I savored the irony of feeling safer and more in control than I do in a car. Of course, an eighteen-wheeler could have rear-ended us. We could have hit a deer or wiped out on a sharp turn or bump. But somehow, inches above the ground, I felt oddly protected.

As predicted, my office visit was a lot of fun. Riding back, I realized I'd succeeded because, for once, I didn't over-think it. When you treat a new challenge like it's something you’ve always done, you often find it was never a big deal in the first place. You may even find you were born to ride…. ;)

Ever since I told my coworkers my family raised chickens, I've been mercilessly henpecked. ;) Most recently, the rubber chicken I'd had hanging from my computer suddenly vanished!

In its place was this note:


This was my response:

If you can't read my chicken scratch (har har), it says "I will pay whatever sum you require (even eggs)! Please don't hurt my chick'n." I signed it "A Heartbroken Lima Lima (AKA Larissa Lytwyn, NATO Alphabet style). :D


A few days later I recieved this:



It was a no-brainer. On the 22nd, I would have those eggs!


A few days after that....I was distraught!



After delivering the eggs as promised, I finally got the chicken back at the end of the day, looking like this:



Fortunately, after cleaning up and taking a nap....


He was feeling a bit better.

I am now waiting for his dinner (roast chicken and Mom's Mac 'N Cheese) to finish heating so I can give him a little food. Thank goodness he's okay!


Welcome back, Chick'n!!

...For the record, I'm still not sure who the culprit is. It may even have been an outside job.

Will we ever know?

I recently discovered a wonderful blogging site, Personal News Network: The Global Watercooler for Women . It's an excellent forum for women to share their lives--and their life's work.

The site was founded by Lauren Elliott, creator of the classic Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? game series.

Elliott's motivation was to provide a place for writers to gain exposure in an industry notoriously difficult to navigate. Sections range from politics to food to well-being . PNN also offers publishing opportunities through writing contests.

Since joining this month, I've really enjoyed networking with like-minded creative and intelligent women of all ages and backgrounds. I've interacted with college students, twenty-somethings and empty-nesters. We are all bound by a single passion: a love for writing.

I encourage everyone to stop by!

Google the words "farming therapy" and you'll score dozens of hits, from tales of urban escape to therapy farms providing comfort to emotionally or physically challenged children and adults. Growing up with chickens (and later ducks and geese), I can attest to the peace that can be found in the quiet rhythms of agricultural life.

Though neither of my parents grew up on farms, both were always drawn to the country lifestyle. I still remember the day my father and I drove to Benedict Agway to buy our first two Rhode Island Red hens, Mindy and Cindy. (Their names were inspired by my then-favorite show, Mork & Mindy, on Nick at Nite) . Mindy and Cindy quickly became full-fledged pets. They spent a lot of time poking around the deck that summer, pecking up everything from potato salad to birthday cake. (Ironically a favorite food was chicken).

As the years passed our brood grew to three dozen. Each winter we eagerly anticipated the new catalog from Iowa-based Murray McMurray Hatchery, one of the country's largest carriers of mainstream and exotic breeds. The chicks always arrived at the post office in the early morning, a bustling, peeping mass in a well-ventilated cardboard box.

Raising chickens seems to strike a lot of people as a charming oddity. I guess the moment fruit began defining technology (from Apples to Blackberries) a once-indigenous part of society officially became alien. I'm often asked what it's like to raise them. Chickens are relatively easy to care for, requiring only feed, water and a secure area to lay their eggs and roost. Their personalities are as varied as their many breeds.

While our modern lives are "easier" in convenience, they aren't always better in quality. Private farming can be an effective way to ease life's frenetic pace. Spending time with my family's birds keeps me in the moment.

Hobby farming is also a great way to connect with people. I love giving my friends and coworkers fresh eggs, including green and blue ones. They're produced by the Araucana , or "Easter Egg" chicken, native to South America.

Imagine the surprised expressions on peoples' faces when I hold one up:

















(It's the perfect icebreaker at a party: "Hey, did you know you can really have your green eggs and ham?")


...Since learning about my passion for chickens, my office friends have yolked (pun intended) every moment:

















Seriously, however, raising chickens is part of the simplicity I need in a world in which Paris Hilton has come to define The Simple Life. I'm intrigued by therapy farms using animals to lend comfort and strength. My goal is to have my own farm to share someday. Who knows what it could become? ;)

Until then, I'll just keep bringing people plenty of my family's eggs.

Last night watching Animal Planet I discovered the world's most adorable exotic pet: the capybara. Don't think of them as giant rodents. They're more a cross between a dog and a cat.

Some are even celebrities! Meet Caplin Rous. Yup, he's even got his own blog. Caplin enjoys scratching himself, sleeping underwater , singing and noshing on blueberry yogurt.

Fun fact: capybaras also enjoy relieving themselves...in water. Sentimental memories of kids peeing in pools immediately came to mind. (Not that I ever did such a thing). Apparently, though, a lot of us still do.

I was about to declare my new favorite animal (sorry, chickens) when my coworker showed me this:










Yes, I'm still in mid-aww (and awe).

The Red Panda (or Firefox) is an endagered, bamboo-loving creature indigenous to the Himalayas. If I weren't already a Buttercup (small and feisty) or a Pomeranian (orange and cute), I'd definitely be a Firefox.


...I'd suggest a capybara, of course, but my teeth aren't that big.

I’m currently reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s bestselling memoir Eat, Pray, Love, a vivid account of her soul-searching return to self after a failed marriage. Gilbert’s writing is imbued with warmth. She’s instantly relatable. And she’s sassier than "Kathy Griffin.

An unapologetically quirky gal, she describes herself as “the planet’s most affection life-form (something like a cross between a golden retriever and a barnacle).”

Quite frankly, I’m wondering if we were separated at birth.

The book's central themes involve age-old questions of faith and self-acceptance. I’ve written frequently about how often we look outside ourselves for fulfillment instead of recognizing we’re already whole.

How can we integrate this simple truth into our lives? Part of the process is redefining common human experiences, for example, self-doubt and loneliness, as opportunities for reflection and resilience.

Gilbert recalls a dream in which an Indian guru asks her how to stop the ocean waves from crashing on the beach. She vainly draws diagrams of dams and walls. Finally, the guru laughs. “Tell me, dear one,” he says, pointing toward the colossal, powerful, endless rocking ocean. Tell me, if you would be so kind—how exactly were you planning on stopping that?”

Life is like the ocean. As living creatures, we’re all part of it. The moment we accept it is the moment we start rolling with the waves instead of fighting the current.

Maybe the meaning of life is to just... go with the flow.

Closing on my condo yesterday, a long-standing dream I've finally accomplished, is a reality that hasn't quite hit me yet. Sure, the seemingly endless parade of papers to sign and phone calls to return has ended. ("I'm realizing I don't have to call you every five minutes to verify something anymore," I told my real estate agent yesterday. "You can call me anytime," she replied in a patented "aw-shucks" moment).

As I start this new chapter, I still find myself turning back pages, anxiously rereading my mistakes. But I know we define our own reality. After all, "the past is only good when used as ammunition to load your gun of optimism to take on the future."

I suppose we should take care to aim our optimism in the right direction.

Above all, it's our relationships with each other that define our failure or success.

My mother is the singularly most optimistic person I know. An RN and antiques dealer, she has come slowly but steadily into her own, balancing a successful career in nurse mangement with her passion for 19th century glass and porcelains. Three years ago she published her first book on silvered mercury glass and continues to contribute actively to trade publications.

She is also an amazing mother and genuinely loving and devoted wife.

To see how both she and my father have evolved and built so much inspires me every day.

My mother's always had the ability to keep moving, take smart risks and push herself to grow and learn. She has never been the sort of person who has remained in a rut for very long. She's inspired by ideas and possibilities. She was the first person to tell me to smile even if I felt unhappy because eventually, if I acted happy, I'd become happy. She also taught me the best way to love is to give. Most of all, she taught me worrying about tomorrow undermines the present.

Perhaps we should strive to behave in ways that will minimize the need to worry at all. If we don't lie in the first place, we'll never have to worry about covering our tracks. If we make a mistake and ignore it, or focus on it too much, we'll never learn from it. If we make a mistake, we need to admit it, address it and move on.

Releasing ourselves from the past doesn't mean we've forgotten it.

We've just stopped clinging to it because we've realized we can't be in two places at once.

Is living in an ever harder, faster, stronger world really better? Texting has become the new phone call. Online dating has become the new bar scene. And blogging? Blogging is the instantly published piece we can all write anywhere, anytime, as long as we have a spare minute and a computer.

Increasingly complex technology has allowed everything to become easier to access and, theoretically, to communicate. Communicating more quickly, however, hasn't always improved the quality of the communication itself . It seems, in fact, as technology makes things simpler, our lives become more complicated.

We're changing jobs more frequently. We're marrying later and often more than once.

Our growing freedoms have brought higher pressures. While we're finally being allowed to marry whomever we choose, more of us will inevitably start wondering why we're still single at 35.

While we generally can work in whichever fields we want, some of us still face financial hurdles and glass ceilings. Some of us must abide by a "don't ask, don't tell" policy.

And, more and more, economic necessity is forcing us to work wherever we can.

In times like these, the best defense is simplicity.

Simplicity, especially in recent years, has been the subject of countless articles and inspirational magazines. It's best found, perhaps, in our relationships with ourselves and each other.

Simplicity is accepting joy in the small, everyday moments.

We often agonize over why relationships fail. Usually, it's simply because we don't connect deeply enough. If a relationship begins feeling forced, we need to question why we're even in it.

There is a difference between commitment and neediness .

Interests should be shared, not imitated. Being open to new adventures does not mean living vicariously through another's passions. Being together should feel as natural as sometimes being apart.

On a similar theme is the proverbial exploration of why nice guys rarely get the girl . The chase is more exciting if it feels like more of a challenge to reach the goal. As the author states, it's human nature to relish an accomplishment achieved through effort and even sacrifice.

At the same time, there are some who will always be purposefully unattainable. Failure is not the preamble to success when the goal is being the exception who changes the mind of someone who doesn't ever want to get married or have children.

There's a telling scene in the new "Sex and the City" film in which one character asks another how often they're happy in their relationship. The answer? Generally, "always."

Of course, all relationships require a major commitment and hard work to be sustained. There will always be setbacks, be it sickness, death, job insecurity and the inevitable differences in opinion. But if those differences translate to increasingly divergent lifestyles, interests and points of view, whether it's how to raise children or even whether to have children, bigger issues need to be confronted.

How many relationships could we improve if we talked about the subjects we avoided from fearing their potential impact? Ironically, we sometimes engage in far more damaging behaviors as a result of those fears.

However sophisticated technology makes society, communication is always best the old-fashioned way: open, honest and in person.

Certain television shows define generations. Like “Friends” and “Family Guy,” “Sex and the City” was a consummate guilty pleasure. Within two years of its 1998 HBO debut, its popularity had scored catchphrase-level heights.

As the show evolved, however, the characters became increasingly relatable. As a result, I believe, its audience broadened. I had the pleasure of catching the Sex and the City film during its recent opening weekend. It was an even greater pleasure to watch it with a friend (male and straight)!

“I have two sisters, remember?” he said. “I actually don’t mind the show. It’s got smart writing.”

Spending the next two-plus hours with Carrie & Co. was the cinematic equivalent of the show: a great night out enjoying no-holds-barred conversation about life and relationships. Although looking decidedly nonplussed at some choice scenes, my friend enjoyed the characters’ reliably engaging rapport.

Seeing articles about the film's “sexism,” then, have been surprising. While I can understand most men's lackluster reaction to the unabashed girliness of Manolo-filled closets and Vivienne Westwood bridal, I don’t think many feel downright scorn for the show.

We live in a world a lot more complicated then it was even ten years ago. People are staying single longer. "Sex and the City" is simply a reflection of that reality. It's a reality both men and women can relate to.

After a seven-year absence I’m returning to the blog I began for a web journalism class during my sophomore year of college. It was an interesting time. Less than two weeks had passed since 9-11. It was the cusp of the blogging phenomenon, and the focus of our blogs was to examine various aspects of post-attack media coverage. I focused on anxiety disorders.

After the class ended, my maintenance of the site soon dissipated.

After graduating in 2003 I began my career as an education reporter and editor of a small community newspaper. Today I balance my freelance writing with working fulltime as a crew scheduler for a cargo airline.

Through seven years and many personal and professional changes, I’ve learned happiness can only exist within--never outside--ourselves.

In the nightmarish aftermath of the Sept 11 attacks, when newspapers flew off the racks in four hours and televisions revealed identical scenes of mayhem without cease, psychologists prepared for what was predicted to be a surge of new patients. But these hordes of terrified civilians never made an appointment.

According to a report in The Boston Globe, many Americans sought refuge outside of health clinics. In fact, most of the estimated 3-6 million Americans afflicted with various forms of anxiety disorders were among those involved in candle-light vigils, peace rallies, and numerous discussions with family and friends. It seemed more effective than outside programs.

While, according to the Globe, "new prescriptions for sleep aids rose 27.5 percent between the week before the attacks and the last week of September" in New York City, and "new prescriptions for anti-anxiety drugs rose 25 percent," the reasons for these increases were likely not exclusive to the Sept 11 tragedy. The Globe later notes most of the participants comprising the surprisingly low turn out for last week's National Depression Screening Day focused on personal issues unrelated to the attacks.

To me, the Globe piece revealed another lesson learned from the Sept 11 attacks. Out of tragedy emerged a sense of unity and understanding, a collective ability to better cope. How can we internalize these coping skills and apply them more consistently?

People suffering hardship almost universally feel very alone and helpless. This is troubling because the World Health Organization recently reported one in four people will be affected by a mental disorder over the course of their lifetime.

On Sept 11, people across continents were united simply by knowing about the attacks. Since we all had experienced, in some way, these terrible events, there was no shame in discussing something so real and relevant to so many of us. We simply have to realize that we don't need tragedies to bring us together. We're not nearly alone as we feel: statistics suggest staggerly high numbers of us are affected by much-stigmatized mental illnesses. Fortunately, we are aquiring the medical advancement neccesary to further understand and treat these conditions. But if so many of us are affected by them, why does such an inhibiting stigma remain?

The aftermath of the attacks, in which people were largely unified and supportive of each other, proved to be effective enough to decrease the need for outside intervention. If we applied these principles to a wider number of issues, I honestly believe the effect could be the same.

The only thing we ought to be ashamed of is failing to recognize our own potential.

While last week's tragedy was profound in its devastation, I was uplifted by the level of unity that emerged from it. Like many, I found myself sharing intimate conversations with perfect strangers (a true feat here in New England!), reconciling old differences, rekindling friendships and committing other Sudden Acts of Kindness. To echo the words of a close friend: You are at your best when you are at your worst!

This site acknowledges "the rise of venus"--the rise of love and the rise of rediscovering our own humanity. As a writer, I love observing people and subsequently learning more about the world in the process. I hope that's what I can do here.