sonder – n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.
“You may appear only once, as an extra in the background of someone else’s life.”
Tourists are always taking pictures in LA, and I always think about that when I accidentally get caught in one of their photos.
I’m a nameless face in the crowd of their photo of Venice Beach…
Perspective – Makes you think, doesn’t it?
Happy Sunday!
xox
I’m kinda loving life right now, and I’m proudly, and publicly unapologetic.
Nothin’ special happened.
Maybe it’s the time of year, or a string of good hair days – I’m not sure. All I can tell you is that although it appears as if the entire world has gone to hell in a hand basket…life is good.
And it’s good for you too – really.
Every morning the sun comes up and gives us another chance. Another day to make things right, to make a difference, to love and be loved. I’m sorry. I know it’s not hip to think so; but that’s fucking AWESOME.
Here are just a few of the things that fill me with appreciation.
My health
My hubby (he’s a saint)
I’m at a quandary here, I don’t want to put my beloved dogs before my husband, or after my family…they ARE family, so..
My family (which includes my dogs)
My amazing friends (old and new)
Writing (non-fiction, fiction, essays, the whole caboodle)
My morning walks and hikes with Sally (some of them, the ones that don’t hurt)
Christmas carols (belongs in my Hall of Fame)
Diamonds (they are my best friends)
The fact that I live in Los Angles California, USA.
The fact that I can write this blog without fear of reprisals or repercussions (except maybe occasional embarrassment)
Chocolate (I know it’s high on the list, don’t judge)
Our motorcycle trips
Being inspired (by people, what I read or see or taste or…)
Singing (Karaoke with Orna)
Coffee
The smell of Christmas trees, pine scented anything
Driftwood
Laughing, humor, being silly
False eyelashes (I’m obsessed)
Airplane travel – all travel really
Red nail polish, well…all nail polish
Movies (at the theatre, I love the surround sound and the big screen)
Rainy days
Fires in the fireplace
Hummingbird nests
The color blue
Peanut butter (chunky of course)
Lazy Sunday afternoons reading (just a memory these days)
My garden (nature in general)
White twinkle lights
Tears of joy
The smell in the house on Thanksgiving or any time Raphael cooks
I’d love you to share some of yours! Come on! Be as un-cool as me!
Xox
Have you ever entered a room only to be overcome by its personality?
You know – you’re living your life, having a pretty good day; your coffee is hot, the traffic was cooperative, and as you enter your work environment for the morning meeting… SHAZAM!
You’re hit head on by the personality of a crisis.
A late delivery, a screw up, all the computers are down; in other words, some kind of seemingly unfixable, colossal, earth shattering, crisis.
If a room could manage it, it would be running around in circles, with its hair on fire, shrieking – because that’s exactly what it feels like when you walk in.
So then what happens to you?
Right!?
I know – me too.
It’s happened to me more times than I can count (when it goes beyond fingers and toes, I just stop).
Yep, that’s right, doesn’t matter how high you’re flying, that room and its personality facilitate an energetic face-plant, and before you know it you’re shrieking, running in circles and pulling out your own flaming hair.
If you have the presence of mind, the minute you open the door and feel the yuck, turn around and make a clean getaway, before any of it gets on you.
Call from the corner and tell them you can’t come in – save yourself.
Or if you’re Yoda, Buddha, or Gandhi, you can stand in the middle of the turmoil, keep a cool head and attempt to stop the madness by your example.
Then get the hell out of there before they all start throwing things at you – like scissors and inkjet printers.
It is the rare individual who is immune to the personality of a room.
I can be in a great mood and if my husband comes home and he’s grumpy, surly and out-of-sorts, it changes the personality of the entire HOUSE...and down the rabbit hole I go.
But you know what? There is a silver lining. The opposite is true as well.
I’ve been foul. All dark and twisty; and walked into a room or a store where good music is playing (Christmas carols do it every time) and people are laughing and joking around and before I can say “Hey! I’m trying to be in a bad mood here!” It all gets turned around. The personality of the room sweeps me up in its arms and tickles me (that rascal) and I find myself smiling.
I don’t care what religion you believe in, try to watch the above video and not be moved.
Can you imagine? Racing to the mall, battling the crowds, and then being met by the personality of THIS room?
What an amazing surprise! Just TRY to stay Grinchy.
Plus if you know me, you know I love a good flashmob, choirs, Christmas, and shopping.
This is the feel good mothership – for me.
Xox
..or late at night.
I want to start a feature called What The Hell Wednesday, where we marvel at the extraordinary things that happen – on a daily basis – in our lives.
Are you in?
Great!
Okay. I’ll start.
Over Thanksgiving weekend our old doggie had another seizure (two in ten days).
Since the vet was closed for the Holiday, and Dita seemed to recover in under ten minutes (tail wagging, ball in her mouth), we decided to forgo an emergency visit, observe, and wait until the vet re-opened.
On the outside that’s what it looked like we were doing, but on the inside we were freaking out, consumed with worry, thinking this could be “goodbye”.
You see, our previous dog had a seizure, followed by another every day, until we had to put her down. All within a week. My husband and I both have post traumatic seizure syndrome.
That night, while acting cool, calm and collected (for Dita), I laid in bed and awfulized, working myself into a tizzy (albeit a quiet one).
My thoughts were racing. Don’t kid yourself, you know how this ends was what that practical bastard in my head kept repeating over and over.
Fears greatest hits – on an endless loop.
My husband had anesthetized with pie. I was not so lucky.
I meditated. I listened to my tapes. Finally it got so bad I asked for help.
Please, you’ve gotta help me with this, I write about gaining control over fear, but I’m spiraling over here.
I must have pleaded for a minute or two when a very calm voice came through: It’s not like the other dog, they’ll be able to control it with medication.
Uh, okay. They can do that? With dogs I mean? They have meds for seizures?
It’s not like the other dog, they’ll be able to control it with medication.
But what if…
It’s not like the other dog, they’ll be able to control it with medication.
That’s all they said, exactly those words, over and over, until I calmed down and went to sleep.
A couple of days later, at the vet, after numerous blood tests and X-rays; as he brought the old girl back into the room, I KNEW what the Vet was going to say; I’d even told my husband.
“It’s not cancer like your other dog, we can control it with medication.”
I swear. Verbatim.
Asking for help, then listening for the answer=good.
Spiraling out of control=not so good.
AND even if things look the same, they are not!
What The Hell! I LOVE when that happens!
Now it’s YOUR turn. Please share your best WTH story in the comments below. I know everyone would love to read them – especially ME!
Big Love,
xox
Hi Loves,
Have you been feeling held back lately? – dragged back down by the ankles?
Or… are you holding somebody back?
Read this short essay by Liz Gilbert about her insights, and those of Rob Bell. This is by far the best explanation of the crab bucket analogy that I’ve read.
xox
Take it away guys!
THE CRAB BUCKET
Dear Ones –
A few months ago, I was on stage with Rob Bell — minister, teacher, family man, great guy — and a woman in the audience asked him this question:
“I’m making all these important changes in my life, and I’m growing in so many new and exciting ways, but my family is resisting me, and I feel like their resistance is holding me back. They seem threatened by my evolution as a person, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
Rob said, “Well, of course they’re threatened by your evolution as a person. You’re disrupting their entire world view. Remember that a family is basically just a big crab bucket — whenever one of the crabs climbs out and tries to escape, the other crabs will grab hold of him and pull him back down.”
Which I thought was a VERY unexpected comment to come from a minister and a family man!
Rob surprised me even more, though, as he went on to say, “Families are institutions — just like a church, just like the army, just like a government. Their sense of their own stability depends upon keeping people in their correct place. Even if that stability is based on dysfunction or oppression. When you move out of your ‘correct place’ you threaten their sense of order, and they may very likely try to pull you back down.”
And sometimes, in our loyalty to family (or in our misplaced loyalty to the dysfunction that we are accustomed to) we might willingly surrender and sacrifice our own growth, in order to not disrupt the family — and we will stay down in that crab bucket forever.
Friend groups can do this to each other, too. My friend Rayya Elias was a heroin addict for many years, and she saw the same phenomenon at play with her friends in the drug world: One junkie would try to get clean, and the others would instantly pull her back down into addiction again. I’ve seen it happen, too, when friends try to sabotage another friend’s efforts to lose weight, or quit smoking, or stop drinking, or get in shape. (The mentality being: “If I can’t out of this crab bucket, NOBODY is getting out of this crab bucket.”)
When I first got published, I was working as a bartender, and when I shared my happy news with co-workers, one of the managers said, in real anger, “Don’t you DARE go be successful on us. That was not the agreement.” (And, silently, I was like: “The agreement? What agreement?”) That person never forgave me, actually, for aspiring to climb out of that crab bucket.
Not every family (or family-like grouping) is like this, of course. Some families encourage their members not just to climb, but to soar, and sometimes even to fly away. That is true grace — to want somebody to grow, even if it means that they might outgrow you.
But others will try with all their might to hold you back, to pull you down into the crab bucket again and again.
If that is happening in your life, you must identify it and resist it.
Don’t let them stop you from growing.
As Rob Bell said beautifully: “If people love you, they will want you to grow. If somebody doesn’t want you to grow, you can call their feelings about you by many names…but you cannot call it love. You can call it fear, you can call it anger, you can call it control issues, you can call it resentment…but nobody has ever held anyone back because of love.”
Dear Ones, if it’s time for you to grow, you have to grow.
If it’s time for you to change, you have to change.
If it’s time for you to move, you have to move.
If it’s time for you to finally crawl out of that crab bucket, start crawling.
Holding yourself back in order to make other people happy will not serve you, and — ultimately — it will not serve them, either.
Be loving, be compassionate, be gracious, be forgiving. But if it’s time to be gone, be gone.
(And needless to say, if you are the crab at the bottom of a bucket who is holding another crab back from escape, it might be time to summon up all your love and all your courage and gently, generously, LET GO. It won’t be easy, but it might be the most important thing you ever do.)
ONWARD,
LG
Some Monday morning wisdom. Self explanatory.
Take it in.
Marinate.
Let it settle –
Isn’t it empowering to know that YOU are in charge of your own happiness?
Big love,
Xox
Hi Loves,
It’s another Jason Silva Sunday!
The guy my husband and I both want at our Thanksgiving table.
Can you imagine the conversation? Would we get a word in edgewise? Would we care?
xox
HI Loves,
I hope this finds you enjoying the long holiday weekend – eating, watching sports, eating, shopping, eating, and hanging with friends and family. And eating some more.
Speaking of family…
Take a quick minute to watch this video. These woman are just figuring out what growing older is all about – and it doesn’t resemble our mother’s golden years. Everything’s different – all bets are off. That can be a bit frightening, and at the same time exhilarating!
Fifty is the new thirty, and it’s never been a more exciting time to grow older, gain maturity, and take control of your life. And it’s not just women!
That is my wish for you, for all of us really, that we age with grace and dignity, and kick some serious ass along the way!
much love,
xox
Hi Loves,
A few of you asked me to re-post the Thanksgiving essay from last year. I hope it helps ya’ll to keep it together!
I also wanted to add how extremely thankful I am for all of YOU and your big, open, hearts.
Happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends!
xoxJ
Thanksgiving in the U.S. can be brutal because of all the Norman Rockwellian expectations. Unfortunately, what we imagine as warm and fuzzy, can quickly turn cold and prickly.
Even though everyone at the table is somehow related, dinner etiquette can morph
into a kind of blood sport. Back handed compliments and thinly veiled sarcasm abound, and it’s just not Thanksgiving unless someone ends up in tears.
Add a tons of carbohydrates, lots of judgement, a dash of shame, with a pumpkin pie chaser and voila – Hilarity ensues!
NOT.
When you put together people that only find themselves sitting in the same room once a year, there isn’t enough alcohol on the planet to keep you in “that loving place”.
It can turn into a real numb-fest.
The carbs numb you down,
The booze,
The sugar,
The football,
The sour cream onion dip,
Yes, you heard me. It all numbs you down, so you can smile and remain polite, making sure that everyone lives to see another holiday.
But let’s all try to remember, shall we, that everyone has the highest of intentions when they pull up the driveway.
And each year can be a fresh start.
When you make forgiveness the first course, it helps you remember that everyone is just doing the best they can and it makes the rest of the day play out differently.
My family is loving, relatively sane, and really quite civil – now.
I think that’s because we’re all so damn old.
The last time we served crazy for Thanksgiving was during the Reagan
Administration.
Gone are the comments lobbed across the table by uncle Bob, that are meant to be funny – but aren’t – followed by that uncomfortable silence.
So…let’s all practice forgiveness, humor, acceptance and gratitude; choosing to operate from the heart, remembering the true intention of this day.
Take a deep breath, put on your best holiday smile, and listen with love, as your well intentioned aunt gives you her unsolicited opinion on how much she dislikes your new haircut.
Happy Thanksgiving,
Xox
It happened over several years, with the subtle finesse we’ve come to expect from the French.
He entered our family just under fifteen years ago.
He is a foodie extraordinaire and an accomplished cook in his own right, but he ingratiated himself in the beginning, acting as the sous chef for my mother who is the culinary queen of our family—then slowly, skillfully, and sneakily—He hijacked Thanksgiving.
The only demand he acquiesces to is that it must be an ORGANIC turkey.
“No antibiotics, no hormones…no taste” he sing-songs sarcastically under his breath as he places the order every year.
I suppose we should be grateful that he hasn’t decided to switch fowl on us yet. Next year it could be pheasant or duck in the center of the table.
See, that’s the thing, we, my siblings and I, we LOVE and crave all year ‘round, my mom’s traditional Thanksgiving feast.
The one we ate as kids. The meal whose perfection is so sublime it should never be messed with. EVER.
Yet…the now reigning chef in our holiday kitchen—the one with the red passport—HE little by little, year after year has modified each dish so completely that it bears little if any, resemblance to the original.
And my mom doesn’t give a hoot!
She’s just so thrilled that someone has taken over the culinary heavy lifting; along with the fact that I finally found a husband—and he’s French—that she sits back and happily eats what she is served; doling out the compliments like Tic-Tacs at a cigar shop.
Benedict Arnold.
This European guy feels no sense of urgency—he doesn’t start the turkey until late morning.
I remember waking up as a child, the house already heavy with the aroma of a turkey that had been in the oven for hours. Now I sit and watch the Thanksgiving parade, eyeing him suspiciously as he lingers over his coffee and sudoku.
You can’t rush the French—about anything, most especially cooking—it shows disrespect and they just won’t stand for it.
Yet…he shows the old hen no respect. He’s rude to her, slathering her with butter and olive oil and then flinging her, breast down, legs in the air (the turkey, not my mother) into a 500-degree oven for the first twenty minutes.
His mashed potatoes are loaded with creme Fraiche, truffle salt, and a pound of butter…yet oddly enough—not a single calorie. Oh, the French.
His vegetable of choice is the brussel sprout. The recipe is so elaborate, with shredded bacon and gruyere in a balsamic reduction; that he’s only allowed to make them every other year.
That allows us to have the green beans in mushroom soup with the dried onion rings on top for the alternating years. He would never deign to eat that slop. We, on the other hand, squeal with delight in gleeful anticipation of this mushy mess of soupy goodness while his face assumes that pinched look of French disapproval.
Maybe the worst atrocity against the holiday is the stuffing; or lack thereof. He was raised in France. They don’t know from stuffing. They have bread pudding.
This year he is repeating the mushroom and leek bread pudding that he served last Thanksgiving. It really is delicious, don’t get me wrong, it’s just not my mom’s stuffing and it doesn’t go well with gravy – if you can imagine that.
As long as we’re talking gravy. His gravy is ridiculously smooth and savory, I’ll hand him that.
No one can figure out how he does it and I still haven’t caught him in the act of making it. I’m convinced it is delivered by Trappist monks to the back door just before we sit down.
Yams and sweet potatoes are not his things either so he’s given us the okay to make my mom’s killer Sweet Potato Casserole. It is heart-stoppingly delicious. La petite mort— it is THAT good.
It’s been ten years, and I’m just getting over it.
Nope, no Norman Rockwell moment at our house.
Instead, with knives so sharp they can slice a tomato, he carves the turkey up in the kitchen like a skilled butcher, arraigning it artistically by sections on a white platter; placing the drumsticks on the sides like exclamation points. I’ve actually come to appreciate the expediency of serving the bird this way.
White meat on the left, dark meat on the right.
Voila!
But this is a day about giving thanks and although He has hijacked this most American of meals, I must admit that we are lucky and ever so grateful to have this Frenchman in our family.
Every. Single. Year. He takes us on another culinary adventure, expanding our palates by spending weeks shopping, hours chopping and delivering to our family such a carefully thought out and meticulously prepared and delicious feast.
We love you!
Now let’s eat!
Happy Thanksgiving!
