So it’s been some time since I’ve written anything and I find myself staring at the blank screen trying to figure out what it is I want to say that I haven’t said already. Maybe that’s it. A journey is not a straight line. Point A to Point Z with, if you’re lucky, plenty of the rest of the alphabet in between. Chances are we won’t zip through the alphabet in the order we expect, the “RIGHT” order…A B C D E F, etc. etc. We’ll start at A, go to B, and maybe we’ll skip to D, and come back to C when we’re ready. Maybe we’ll decide, “screw C, not gonna do it.” People will talk, maybe judge us harshly.  How can you move on to D if you haven’t spent enough time at C!!??” Hey, it’s my alphabet, I’ll get through it anyway I want to! Maybe I’ll try a little of your alphabet, just for something different. But sometimes we get stuck at say, P. We find ourselves repeating the same mistakes, whining about the same things, vowing to make it to Q if it kills us. P. P. P. P. Q! Yes!!! R is just over the horizon!!! I can see it….P. P. P. P. O. O…N. N. N. WTF?!  For some, myself included, there is a definite disconnect between saying we want something and wanting it enough to get it. Certainly, there are things we can’t control. Life is gonna hand you plenty of S. H. I. and T. But there are so many things we can do along the way to make our journey rich and happy and full of every letter in the alphabet. What is the appeal in living our whole life in P? Is it the simplicity? Is it the fear that we won’t be good enough to get to X? Or fear of getting to X and deciding Y looks more inviting…or M or even A, anywhere we are not at the moment? There is a certain comfort level in looking at other alphabets and envying them their G’s, their beautiful O’s, their unbelievable N’s. We don’t have to fill our lives because we are too busy ogling someone else’s letters. Being stuck at P is just an excuse not to strive for Q. Not everyone gets to Q. There’s no shame in not getting to Q. But we should at least climb out of P and try our best to get to Q. Maybe just P and a half to start. ‘Cause before you know it, there’s nothing left but Z.

And the Cow Jumped Over the Moon, Pin & Pendant

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So, I’m entering week two of the “Conscious Cleanse”, a regimen in which I don’t eat dairy, gluten or sugar. No caffeine, tomatoes, eggs, or alcohol.  It is vegetable-heavy, with legumes, nuts, seeds, lean “animal protein”, and healthy fats allowed. I was inspired by my sister, who is pretty health-conscious in general, and had chosen Passover to start her cleanse. I, of course, thought she was insane. No chocolate-covered matzohs?  No fruit slices? What’s the point of having a Seder if you don’t eat hard-boiled eggs like you’ve never seen one before? Isn’t that one of the four questions? Nonetheless, inspired I was, and as I have been feeling like Jabba the Hut lately, I thought now is the time. I initially thought I’d wait a week, to “prepare”. But as anyone who knows me knows, “preparing” generally involves talking myself out of doing something I really don’t want to do. So I bought the book on Sunday, stocked up on nuts and seeds and raw almond butter and dove right in. The first couple of days were, to put it mildly, a little rough. I was cranky, I had a caffeine-withdrawal headache, and I really wanted a bagel. I hated Jo and Jules, who perkily informed us we might want to get our own nut milk bag, so we can make our own hemp milk, and if we wanted our puréed soups a little warmer, we could leave them in the blender for 5 minutes. Yeah, I’m not making my own almond milk and if I want something a little warmer, I’m tossing it in the microwave. And isn’t hemp the stuff they make rope out of?  So, I bought organic hummus, I treated myself to an iced coffee with store-bought  almond milk with the girls on Sunday, I probably went a little heavy on the fruit and avocado, and light on the veggies, and one night I had turkey kielbasa in tomato sauce.  But at the end of the week, I realized I liked a lot of what I was eating. I love Swiss chard sautéed in a little coconut oil and garlic, I like almond milk and stevia in my coffee. And I lost quite a bit of weight. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t as raw and perfect as the authors might be, but baby steps are steps. It just takes a little longer to get where you’re going. And if you step on a crack, or pick the wrong square, turn around and pick another.  Checkmate.  

Marriage of Metals Checkerboard Pattern

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So I spent the whole day Wednesday  on a guifinesen high. This occurs when you take one too many Mucinex pills and follow that every several hours with a chaser of cough syrup meant to be taken once every 12 hours. Now, I can hold my cough medicine. There is very little that can take me down, but people, I was flying. I asked a colleague, “Do I seem different to you?”  And she responded, ” hmmm, a little quieter, maybe….”  I guess I had enough sense left to know that it was better to be quiet and focus, rather than spinning around in my office chair, yelling, ” I LOOOOOVE YOU GUYZZZZZ…” At some point, I must have eaten lunch, because I was covered in lettuce bits.  I do remember taking a walk on my break and trying so hard to walk normally, fearing I looked like an old drunk. I finally decided I was rocking the stoned, hippy vibe and smiled placidly at everyone and everything. Somehow, I got through the day, navigated public transit and the drug store and was yards from the safety of home when my uber-cool purple Doc Maartens got caught in a crack in the sidewalk and I went flying, ripping a hole in my jeans and skinning my knee. As I hoisted myself up and stood there, straightening myself up and brushing stray lettuce out of my cleavage, it occurred to me how often the universe will give us exactly what we ask for. I wanted to feel young again. And there I was, skinned knees, ripped jeans, still wearing the detritus of lunch, lower lip quivering, determined not to cry until I was home.  I had become a giant toddler.  The lesson here is, be very specific when you wish on a star.  Somebody is listening. 

NAMASTE

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So you all know how I, (ad nauseum) go on and on about how I’m not this enough or that enough.  Well, the universe has a really interesting way of  pulling us up out of what my friend, Ed calls “the warm, shitty place” I got called into a meeting with my supervisor the other day, because for several months, I’ve been prone to emotional outbursts at work. I say several months with tongue in cheek, because, let’s face it. Anyone who’s ever met me, knows I’m prone to emotional outbursts preceeded by months of muttering under my breath.  But now, I’m blaming it on vertigo and menopause. Well, after the obvious warnings about unprofessionalism, blah, blah, it turned into a less than stellar performance review. What the…?! I knew I was unhinged, but I though I was doing a great job!!  Isn’t it worth the emotional instability, being that I am so %#^*ing great at my job?  Well, no…and I’m not. After 24 hours of feeling defensive and wronged…mutter, mutter, mutter…I had to accept the truth. I have all of the tools to be great at my job. To be a great actress, if that’s what I wanted, to be a great jeweler, a great writer, a better wife. All I have to do is get out of my own way.  One of my acting teachers said to me once, you give a great 75%.  I got it. But it didn’t stick. I’ve given a fine 75% to everything I’ve ever done. And I think I’m getting away  with it. Until I’m not. Then I’m pissed and defensive, and prone to emotional outbursts. And really, the person I most want to yell and scream at is myself…”Please, once and for all, get the %#^* out of my way!!!”

Losing My Mind

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It has occurred to me as I have navigated these last 12 months from birthday to birthday , from peri-menopause to menopause, that I have not been as light-heartedly entertaining as I have been in the past. Perhaps I have dragged you kicking and screaming into the workings of my  anxious mind, a place you’d rather not visit.  My first instinct is to apologize and try to smooth things over. To make a joke, to ask for forgiveness.  But, I’m not going to. You bought the ticket, you take the ride.  Ultimately, I write for me. To help me. To guide me to a place of peace. And it’s quite possible the instincts to make peace, to calm the choppy waters, got me here in the first place. Like my mom before me, when the seas get a little stormy, I  work so hard to convince myself,  and others, but really myself, that everything is ALRIGHT!!  Somewhere in my youth, I decided if I wasn’t good enough, I should keep very still so as not to rile up the airwaves around the popular kids cause you know the minute they look in your direction,  you’ll be doing something hideously embarrassing. And they’ll notice you, alright. And not in a good way. So I  have been sitting, waiting for the point in my life when I will have that epiphany where I wake up and think…”Alright!! Now,I am finally good enough!” I sit and mutter under my breath, occasionally screaming and carrying on and cursing the heavens, and I wait. I look back with regret that I didn’t do this or that, because I was too busy sitting… waiting for someday. When I would be enough. So at 57, my ass hurts, and my left foot is asleep and my thighs are sticking to the plastic slip covers.  I look at my beautiful nieces and wish I could go back and be armed with all of the poise and potential and possibilities they posess. They have their whole lives ahead of them. It would not be untrue to point out that I have my whole life ahead of me. Enough is enough.  For everyone out there who believes that they aren’t enough, you are. More than enough. So, get off the %#^*ing sofa! 

  Holding On, Letting Go

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I have spent the last two weeks battling vertigo and dizziness. I’ve been to my doctor, I’ve seen an ENT and had two sessions with a physical therapist. The room no longer spins wildly, but I’m still dizzy, pretty much all of the time. Obviously, I’m going back to my ENT to see if it might be something else with my ears. If not, it’s back to my doctor, a cardiologist, a neurologist, a shaman, an acupuncturist, a witch doctor? I’m terrified. Not only because it might be something serious, but because it might be something that no one can figure out and I may have to live like this forever. How do I that? I can’t read comfortably, because l can’t look down. Even now, I have to stop typing periodically because I get dizzy. I can’t work on my jewelry. All I can really do is sit in bed, propped up on pillows watching infomercials. I just bought a nutribullet. Two for one! I know there are lessons to be learned here. I have a renewed commitment to eating better. Less sugar, less artificial sweetener, less salt and fat. Who knows how much influence that has on what I’m experiencing? I have more appreciation for my support network. My CFO who is trying to find a copy holder, so I don’t have to look down to read, my supervisor, who’s been very understanding about the amount of sick days I am taking, my colleagues, one who knows the maneuver my physical therapist does and does it for me on the floor of our office, the other who shares her smoothie with me in the hopes that the nutrition will help me. I have been on hold for two weeks. There were no birthday celebrations this year. They will have to wait until I feel better. And I have to believe I will feel better, what ever it takes. There is no other option. There are many fruit baskets waiting to be balanced on my unspinning head.

Carmen
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