Somebody

I want to be a somebody to somebody who needs me.

I want to be somebody's somebody.

I want somebody to want to be my somebody.

The more I say somebody, the stranger it sounds.

Strange.

I remember my father sitting outside the room I shared with my siblings, when we were younger. It was a regular nighttime ritual, he would plant a chair outside our room, and 'shush' us anytime someone made a noise. I guess my parents figured it was the only way to guarantee that we would go to sleep without killing each other. It worked, mostly.

I have been taking care of 3 little dependents for the past few days while their parents are out of town. Firstly, waking up while it is still dark out is no joke, I don't know how parents do it every day. And I don't drink coffee. I'm stumbling around trying to get 3 kids up and out the door, while getting myself dressed, doing my hair and makeup and trying to look presentable. I think I have it all together until I see a mom in heels waltz by me looking hotter than hot, while my eyes feel tired and blurry.

So I too sit outside their door, listening to them breath and waiting for them to fall asleep. The oldest is nine, he says he "can't sleep", which I take to mean that he is scared and wants me to come sit with him.

It is strange being the one to lock up at night, set the alarm, be a buffer between these 3 kids and all the bad on the other side of the door. I can no longer be afraid of the dark, or spiders, or potential home invaders, because if I am scared who will be brave for the kids?

For the record, I'm not scared of any of those things mentioned above. Mostly.

I am experiencing what is like to take care of people other than myself, and it is: thrilling, fulfilling, exhausting, annoying, accomplishing, taxing, and it's only been 3 days. I realize sleep is key, because I'm not a very nice person when I'm tired.

So I'm catching up on sleep while I still have the chance, which is why I vow to never wake up before 11 again.  

Trumped

trumped-up

adjective

adjective: trumped-up 

 

     invented as an excuse or a false accusation. 

        "he was arrested on trumped-up charges"

 

I remember driving to the country last Summer on a Thursday night. I was going to spend Shabbos with a family friend, and caught a ride with my friend's husband. We discussed Donald Trump's entry into the presidential race, and I insisted that it was a joke. I thought his campaign was as fake as his toupee. I watched and waited for him to jump out and say "Gotcha!", but that moment never came.

I admit I haven't really been involved in politics, until recently. Mostly because I couldn't be bothered to understand it. Funnily enough, the first time I actually pay attention to what is going on, it is pretty clear to me: I don't much care for my options. 

An article published in the New York Times entitled "No, Not Trump, Not Ever" by David Brooks puts my feelings more accurately into words. "Donald Trump is epically unprepared to be president. He has no realistic policies, no advisers, no capacity to learn. His vast narcissism makes him a closed fortress. He doesn’t know what he doesn’t know and he’s uninterested in finding out."

 

I have watched him speak. From a purely emotional standpoint, I just don't like him. He appears to be a bully, and is grossly disrespectful to the other candidates. "He is a childish man running for a job that requires maturity. He is an insecure boasting little boy whose desires were somehow arrested at age 12. He surrounds himself with sycophants. “You can always tell when the king is here,” Trump’s butler told Jason Horowitz in a recent Times profile. He brags incessantly about his alleged prowess, like how far he can hit a golf ball. “Do I hit it long? Is Trump strong?” he asks."

 

The talk around the Shabbos table naturally turns to politics. When asked what people think of Trump, most say that he is funny and entertaining, like watching a game show. Perhaps so, but is that what you want for leadership? They say he is brutally honest, that he has enough money so has no need to take payouts or support anyone else's agenda, that the world is afraid of him because he speaks the truth.

 

Would you rather a candidate who lies outright, promising things that they will not deliver on, or one who makes such outrageous claims that they cannot possibly deliver on it? 

 

I don't see any real alternative at the moment, but I do know that Trump will crumble the carefully constructed political wall that so many politicians have worked so hard to build. Are you really prepared to see it come tumbling down? Do you really think a loud-mouthed #nofilter businessman with no political experience is the best way to go?

There are 8 months left for a viable candidate to come forward, and although it is unlikely at this point, miracles do happen. Hey, G-d split the sea in way less time than that.

Two Truths and a Lie

1) I read all 7 Harry Potter books, 2) I punched my sister in the nose the night before my older sister's wedding, 3) I feel aimless and alone right now.

In my defense, we were fighting over the TV remote and I backhanded her, it wasn't intentional. I got blood on the brides petty coat, (which she had already decided not to use), there was a big uproar, everyone was mad and yelling. Sounds about right. No wedding is complete without some yelling. (On that note, Catch My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2 in theaters March 25. *I was not paid to endorse this movie.)

Recently, I received an email from a PhD student who is conducting a study "researching the personal experiences people write on the web about their everyday lives", and my blog came up in their search. He writes, "I’m interested in how the thoughts and experiences written by people like you on weblogs and other social media can be used to make conclusions about society as a whole."

My first instinct was suspicion, but he seemed pretty legit, and he had a website, credentials and a youtube video to back it up. I asked the right questions and decided to participate in the survey.

It got me thinking, why do people read my blog, or anyone's personal blog for that matter?  Unless someone writes about a specific topic, like fashion, food or literature, it is basically just a personal diary of thoughts, feelings and anecdotes that is shared with complete stranger all over the world.

Someone once tried explaining it to me, he said he just found it interesting to read about my life. I could not imagine why.

This video enlightened me.

It's about human connections, finding people who are like you, or who are so worse off than you that you can say "thank G-d my life is not as crappy as that." (I hope I fall into one of those two categories, I don't want to consider the alternative.)

I have been feeling like I've lost touch with my writing recently, or more accurately with myself. So I went to the library and sat there for an hour, trying to figure things out. 

Whenever I think about the past, it takes me on a trip down memory lane some of which is not very pleasant. I always used to try to suss it out, relive it, analyze it and try to understand where and how it went wrong. But I'm starting to realize that some things are best left forgotten. 

I spoke about this in a mini writing group I attended with two other women. One of them compared it to removing an old filling from your mouth. She said the dentist told her, better to leave it in place, because to remove it will stir up so much bacteria it would only cause more problems. 

I was trying to remember the last time I felt truly happy. My memories are attached to emotions rather than physical objects or places. I remembered a post I wrote about 6 years ago, it was the first snowfall of winter and I was running in the streets breathless, with snowflakes in my hair. I felt giddy, alive, carefree. 

I don't know what changed, all I know is that it doesn't matter. What matters is what will change moving forward. 

From Rabbi Simon Jacobson at The Meaningful Life Center: "We forget how to live a meaningful life because we believe in the power of what we don't have more than we believe in the power of our own resources." This resonated with me, because I constantly find myself focusing on negative aspects, of what I regret, what I don't do anymore that I used to do, what could have been, etc. 

The topic of our writing group was "What is your purpose in this world, and do you think you are fulfilling it?" 

One woman wrote about how she loves playing piano but she doesn't think she's very good at it, but when she plays for her kids and watches as they sit silently enthralled, it makes her happy, like she is doing something right. She spoke about how as a mother she gets caught up in all the parenting, she tries to be patient with her kids but ends up rushing them and getting frustrated. But she said amid all the things she wishes she could do more of or be better at, she finds small moments of brightness and clarity where she actually feels like she is fulfilling her purpose.

I liked that, because ultimately it means no one is perfect, not even someone who looks like they have it all together. But the purpose in life is not to be perfect all the time, but to find the moments in between all the chaos where the sun shines in and you feel your true self emerging. 

I'm in the process of making a vision board, in the hopes that having concrete goals in front of me will help me to actually pursue them, and to find a direction.

Rabbi Jacobson suggests that in trying to find your purpose, you should "listen to the call of your soul." 

The very best thing someone ever said to me was "You know what you have to do." By affirming that I know what is best for me, and that I already have the answers will encourage me to look inside myself and use my own resources to move forward, rather than feeling helpless and unsure of myself. Because ultimately, I do know what I have to do. It's the doing it that's hard work.

In that vein, I am moving back to New York. It's been fun here in the Sunshine State, but I never believed I would be here forever. 

For whatever reason you choose to read my blog, I hope that you can benefit from my struggles, and I bless you to find your own purpose in life. 

Points to Ponder

It was the same guy at the check-out desk as last time, the one with the long blond hair and a beard that reminded me of hippies. He had looked at my copy of Douglas Adams The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and commented that he had tried reading it but couldn't make it through the book. (I at least got through the first book before losing interest.)

He says to me, "Are you into anime?" No, I'm not. I have only a vague idea of what anime is, and lump it into the same category as sci-fi. Comic books? Not my thing. Then he invited me to an anime club, where they would watch a film and discuss it. I mistakenly thought he was hitting on me, and inviting me to join him and his geeky friends in some underground club for nerds who like anime.

Turns out, it is just an event at the library. For teens. So, do I look like a teenager? Or someone that would be into anime?

Hard to say.

~ ~ ~

I was in the house alone, doing laundry when the "gardener" stopped by. I use that term loosely. He's an old black guy who mows the lawn. Seemed harmless enough. I said hi, which invited him to talk to me. He looked to be in his 50's, at least.

Then he asked me out. Like, on a date. Kept going on about how nice I was, and how he'd like to take me out sometime. I tried to explain to him that I am Jewish and would only marry a Jew. Of course, that prompted him to discuss religion, and how we are all G-d's creations and surely G-d does not want us to discriminate, which means it is okay. 

I politely tried to extricate myself from the conversation and close the door.

He knocked a little while later, and handed me a piece of paper with his name and phone number scrawled on it. It looked like he couldn't write that well, as he had written and then rewritten the number trying to make it more clear. He said maybe I could call him sometime, and we could go out.

I wished him a good day, a little uncomfortably. 

We live in a time when it's okay for a black guy to ask a white girl out without getting whipped. But somehow he reminded me of slavery.

I kept the paper. It makes me a little sad; I'm not sure why.

Unsteady

I hate that crippling feeling I get sometimes, that I have no one to take care of me. Like if I don't buy food or do my laundry or sweep my floor, it just won't get done, because no one else will do it for me, it all falls on me. It is overwhelming at times, those times when I think about it too much or let it get to me.

My mom said that after she left, my apartment would feel so big, and I would be so grateful to have it all back to myself. She was right about the first part, but I miss them, even my sister with whom I didn't get along with most of my life.

But for a few days, almost a week, someone else held the reigns, someone else did the shopping, bought the food, made sandwiches, prepared dinner, decided where we were going and when. It was a relief, to give up the decision making. It felt like a team, a trio, we went swimming every day in a gorgeous heated 8 ft deep pool, and it all just felt so right.

Last time my mom came to visit, I asked her to bring me some towels. She was horrified to find out that I had only one towel. What's the big deal, said I. Use it and wash it, that's how it goes. I wanted a specific set of towels that I left at home, but she couldn't find them. Of course, while she was here my mom said she would buy me towels, but I refused. I don't need you to buy me towels, I told her, don't worry, I'll make due. That's what I've been doing all my life, I can take care of myself, I don't need your help.

She forgot, and that was that.

My mom and sister came to visit this week. My sister told me a whole long rambling story that I didn't pay much attention to, which ended in her having store credit at Macy's. She decided we would go there and buy me towels. So I went along with it, cuz hey, who doesn't like free stuff.

Of course, I couldn't decide, they all looked the same, I didn't know how to choose, some were soft, some rough, I don't know, I just don't know. Does it really matter? But of course it does, the first time that I am spending money on towels, like I'm setting down roots. This is an important decision. No, I didn't think I would be making this decision with my mother and sister, I live sparsely by choice because who ever comes over?

I looked around at all the things I could not have, did not let myself have. Money was always an issue, why did we deserve good things? I plopped myself down on a bed that probably costs more than I ever made in a year, the duvet cover alone was listed at a thousand. What's the point? Why invest money in things?

The perfect towel still eluded me. Should I choose yellow for a cheery, happy affect? Or is that just forcing it?

My mom pointed to an orange one, but I didn't like it. Finally, we stumbled upon a bright kelly green color. My mom said, "that was my mother's favorite color". We just spent the day in the cemetery surrounded by my dead relatives, so I had to believe that meant something.

I didn't see the matching hand towel, or the large bath sheet size. Not to worry, my sister went to the sales counter to see if they had it in stock. I sat back and let things happen.

Alas, I am the proud owner of a new beautiful kelly green bath towel and matching hand towel. Maybe nobody but me will ever see it, but hey, love of the color green is one of the things me and my grandma had in common.

I drove them to the airport at 4 in the morning, and stumbled back into bed. For the first time, I wasn't the one leaving.

State of Mind

I want to sprawl on the grass, but I dignify myself by finding a bench to sit on. My face is turned towards the sun, reveling in its warm rays, shining orange behind my closed eyelids. I open them a bit, peering through my lashes at the sparkling water. The sun is high in the sky. I'd like to stay like this forever.

My odometer hovers at 2 9 9 9 9 and I watch it slip silently into 30 thousand miles. Only 3 thousand miles of those are mine, but it feels like I've been here forever.

I draw pictures of mountains early Sunday morning babysitting, and wonder if I'll ever get the chance to go there. I offer to take my little friend shopping, but she just wants to stay in pajamas and watch TV. I can't say I blame her.

I walk unhurriedly around the canal, taking deep breaths, and enjoy being outside. The crunchy sound of my sneakers on gravel reminds me of a campgrounds. I want to be 17 again, working at a camp, wearing t-shirts and long skirts and worrying about nothing. I want to be young again, with endless possibilities and no reservations.

My phone weighs me down, like a third arm. I wish I'd left it at home. Today, I try not to use my computer. I eat breakfast outside, by the pool, and then I go for a swim. The water is freezing. It would be, this time of year. But the sun soothes me, dries my skin, calms me.

I eat lunch slowly, remembering to chew my food. Before long I am full. I want to feel full, and not worry about my next meal, not be constantly thinking about what I will eat next, even with a mouthful of food. I want food to sustain me but not imprison me. I want my life to be so full of happiness and importance that I forget to eat.

Today, I am working on wellness. Finding my inner calm. Focusing on the positive. Focusing on what I can have, as opposed to what I can't.

Today is a good day, not because of how it ended, but because of how it started. Some days, most days start off with the best of intentions and take a somersaulting tumbling turn. But that is not what matters.

It took almost 6 months but I think I'm starting to figure out why I'm here, why I 'ran away'. I don't believe there is any particular place one can go to sort things out, find clarity, find themselves or their purpose in life. Clarity is a state of mind. (Or, according to Jimmy Buffet, Margaritaville is a state of mind.) It begins and ends inside of you.

But it doesn't hurt that I'm living in a warm climate, have all the freedom in the world, no responsibilities, and nothing to do but think.

And when that doesn't work, there's always TV.

Deja who?

dé·jà vu

ˌdāZHä ˈvo͞o/

noun

1. a feeling of having already experienced the present situation.

Deja vu: I've been here before.

Or

Deja vu: I've seen this before.

Or

Deja vu: I've stalked him before.

I've definitely stalked him before.

The profile comes with no name, photo or identifying details. If you like it,  you email the administrator who sends you the full profile with all necessary details including name and photo. 

I liked it, I really liked the profile. So I sent away for the full expose, and waited merrily for the reply.

Deja vu: I've stalked him before. Why does his picture look so familiar? Oh right, I checked him out on Facebook. He must have commented on a friend of a friend's post, I thought he looked interesting and promptly tried to find out if he was married. We have 5 friends in common. He's friends with my brother. He rides a motorcycle.

BUT

My hopes fell. I read and reread the description of the person he is looking for, trying to match the adjectives to me. Am I intelligent? Sure. A pleasant person? I can be when I want to. Would I describe myself as compassionate and considerate? That depends, does he mean all the time? Am  I kind to people and strangers? All except the dumb ones. I hate dumb people. 

I pull his profile apart word for word, and I feel my confidence waver. He is too good looking, he comes from a "gezhe" (yichus) family, why would he want me, he probably wouldn't go for me. He lists himself as physically active and loves to try knew things. Sure, I can be too, with the right person. But I'm not that active at the moment.

One voice tells me, just go for it, have a shadchan email him to see if he's interested. But the other, more powerful voice just sits down and sighs, says "don't bother, I'm in no mood for more rejection right now".

And here the story ends.

The sound of sirens

I wake up in a fog. I went to sleep at 4 am, I am tired as hell and I'm pretty sure I have a carb hangover. It's like a regular hangover, only it comes from eating too much sugar instead of drinking alcohol. Yes, food is my drug of choice.

I clumsily reach for my phone, and see a red triangle warning me about a tornado in the area. I can barely focus on the words, but it seems like I slept right through it as the warning had since been lifted.

That sounds about right. These days, I'd sleep through anything. I put my phone on silent and would not know if the president called me. Not that he would; not that I'd care.

The sound of rain registers in my head, not just rain. It's pouring out. And then I realize it is silent in my apartment. No sound from the air conditioner, fridge, or my trusty noise machine set to ocean waves. The power is out. I check online and text my landlord while updating my Facebook 'friends' that I just slept through a tornado. The electric company estimates about an hour.

I turn over and try to fall back asleep, it is way to early for me to be up, I have a headache and feel sick.

I hear sirens, so many sirens, continuously wailing, I wonder if I should go check on my car, maybe a tree fell on it, but I am too tired to care. These days I don't care about much, it seems.

I fall asleep and wake up to the blessed sound of the ac, power is back on and tornado is long gone. The rain has stopped, the sun is shining.

I turn over and go back to sleep. 

How to be single

It's easy to be single in the sense that, if you are not in a relationship then categorically you are single. But it's not easy being single.

I saw the movie in theaters with my mother and my aunt. The main thread of the story is about Alice, a girl who dumps her boyfriend temporarily so that she can go out into the world and 'find herself', figure out who she is as a person, alone. During their time apart, she meets guys and has a string of meaningless flings. When she finally sees her ex again after a particularly sad and empty one-night stand, she tells him that she is ready to be with him, that she knows he is the one. He tells her that he has met someone, that he never needed a break to know that she was the one, but that he has now moved on.

I watched the movie and I was sad. For Alice, for myself, for all the single people out there who are sad and lonely and just want to meet someone and fall in love. Some days, it is so hard to contain my emotions, I feel that anyone can tell how I am feeling by just looking at me.

Alice goes through this whole thing where she doesn't know how to be alone, she is scared if she doesn't meet someone she will be alone forever, she can't unzip her dress by herself and she needs a man to do stuff for her and take care of her. She eventually snaps out of it, creates a pully to unzip her dress for her, and hikes the Grand Canyon alone.

The movie ends with Alice looking out over the canyon at sunrise, spouting some nonsense about being in the moment, enjoying being single and learning how to just be yourself without anyone else, because you may meet someone in a week, a month, so don't let this time pass you by.

I don't know what it says about society that this movie was released on Valentine's day. All I know is that I don't really believe that. I've had enough time to be alone, and I still have no idea who I am.

Maybe it's time to discover that with someone else. I think I'm ready to be un-single.

What is your biggest fear?

I am surrounded by my biggest fears, my deepest insecurities. They stare at me, and scream "shame on you! How dare you walk in here like you belong?"
Do I belong here? Will I ever feel like I belong?

Hundreds of thousands of words make up thousands of books, I can smell them, I can feel them, they can sense my fear. I touch them, longingly, willing them to be mine, to not just sit on a shelf near my bed telling the world that I own them, have read them, no. I wish they were a part of me, I want to inhale them, will them inside my brain, but instead they make me feel small. Lacking. Inadequate.

Of course, I pick out the book that makes me feel worst of all, like I am beating myself up for my own shortcomings, it is simply called "You", by Caroline Kepnes, and I think it was written for me.

"You're not the standard insecure nympth hunting for Faulkner you'll never finish, never start; Faulkner that will harden and calcify, if books could calcify, on your nightstand; You don't stage Faulkner and your jeans hang loose and you're too sun-kissed for Stephen King and too untrendy for Heidi Julavits and who, who will you buy?"
...
"Thank God for a customer and it's hard to scan his predicable Salinger--then again, it's always hard to do that. This guy is, what, thirty-six and he's only now reading Franny and Zooey? And let's get real. He's not reading it. It's just a front for the Dan Browns at the bottom of his basket. Work in a bookstore and learn that most people in this world feel guilty about being who they are."
 ...
"Everybody is always striving to be better, lose five pounds, read five books, go to a museum, buy a classical record and listen to it and like it. What we really want to do is eat doughnuts, read magazines, buy pop albums. And books? F-- books. Get a Kindle."

 Turns out the book is not about me, after all. It is about a psycho stalker who turns into the guy he thinks the girl will want, while killing those who get in his way. Ya. Does that make me crazy because I started reading it and couldn't put it down? It's intoxicating.

I started to lose my faith in books, and once lost it is truly hard to reclaim. Books used to be my love, something to get lost in, transport me to a different time, make me feel better about myself, different, like I was simply misunderstood in my world.

A few bad books can turn me off, but here I am on a Sunday, in a place where I so wish to belong. There is a dog nudging my leg, an older man excuses the dog, says he's just being friendly, and I can swear he is gay. The man, not the dog. He calls his mother, and I wonder how old she is. He reassures her that he is fine, he's out shopping, he didn't call because he was busy, is she okay, I wonder about their co-dependent relationship, if his mother is the only significant relationship in his life, I wonder what he is looking for in here, because trust me, we are all looking for something.

The playlist just seems to match the decor so perfectly, and a song comes on, it is so beautiful, a melody sans words, and suddenly I need to know what it is. I ask the manager sheepishly, like I have to apologize for not knowing what song it is, not being hip enough, and he tells me, it is a remake of the song "Use Somebody" by Kings of Leon, played by 2cellos, and just like that I feel like an idiot. So I don't even know good music.

I hate these places because of how they make me feel. I stopped writing because of how it makes me feel. I hate how it feels like the world's a club, and either you're in or you're not.

What is my biggest fear? That I'll never be good enough. 

This doesn't change anything. I'm going to finish reading the book, self-loathing and all.

And then.

And then.

Seeing my blog drop to three weeks, it's gotta mean something.

Just a wink

I was backing out into traffic, looking both ways as I was taught. Paused twice as two cars went by right behind me. Kept inching out, looking, waiting for a safe gap in traffic. Paused again for another oncoming car. It stopped, their lights went off for a second, then a quick 'on-off' signal, letting me know they would wait for me to go. I waved in thanks as I drove by.

Something so simple, and yet among this harsh world, a quick wink from a stranger is a kind gesture that will keep me going, reminding me that there are still good people in the world.

Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

It's like that. A hostile work environment, as they say. I work with all guys who have no filters. With every word I say, I am walking right into a dirty joke. It got to a point where I have to censor my words all the time. It's exhausting. I finally got fed up and told everyone to stop talking to me.

To end it off, I decided to bake a parve cheesecake for my shabbos hosts, and I almost dropped it right out of the oven, and it ruined.

Conclusion: I need more sleep.

Also, I hate people.

Baking & Sibling Rivalry

Although I fall somewhere in the middle in my family, I never thought of myself as being overshadowed by my older siblings. Until I learned how to bake.

I have an older sister who went to culinary school, and is considered by all to be the resident baker and chef in my family. Which is all well and good, I freely admit that she makes good stuff. 

I enjoy baking too, mostly the enjoyment of having people sample and enjoy what I make. I don't think I'm very good at it. I like making simple easy recipes, with as few steps as possible. I like embellishing recipes and putting my own touch on it. I don't like being confined by rules, so I will usually never write down the changes I make, and most often will not be able to recreate it.

Once in awhile I will post pictures on Facebook of what I make. I get many comments oohing and aahing and asking me to send them some. (But they never ask for the recipe, they just want ready made goods.) 

My sister is a serial poster, she will post pictures almost every night of what she makes for dinner, every Friday what she cooks for Shabbos, and every time she bakes, believe me Facebook will hear about it.

So it should come as no surprise that when I posted the pictures below on Facebook, someone mistook them for my sister, and wanted to ask her to save some for them.

One Friday, she was busy so she asked me to make one of her cake recipes. I of course 'loosely' followed the recipe, which she didn't care for. I think it came out better than hers, if I do say so myself. 

They say too many cooks spoil the broth, but in this case, I think two chefs living in different states are pretty safe.

I just can't show up to her party with anything, or I'll never hear the end of it.

Suspended

Sometimes I feel like my life is on hold. Like everyone else has moved on, relationships, careers, families, babies, illnesses, but for me life has stood still for the last 6 months. It's perpetually summer here, I feel like I'm on vacation all the time. Like winter never happened.

I can't blame someone for being sick, for dodging my calls, for being too tired, too dizzy, too weak, or just not in the mood to talk to me. I should have been thrilled to hear that my mother is in remission, but selfishly all I could think was, when will things go back to normal? Why is she not calling me? Who am I supposed to talk to?

I met this interesting woman who told me all about the book she is writing, debunking medical myths. That taking vitamin D is a myth, all we really need is sunlight. She told me about crystal healing she does, using crystal light energy to heal the body. About how sickness begins in the mind, and we could cure ourselves. I sarcastically countered with, what about people with cancer, or who have diabetes? She claims she knows a way to cure them. She thinks western medicine is just a bunch of pharmaceutical companies trying to make money, that we can't find 'cures' for diseases such as cancer, because otherwise there would be no money in drugs.

I don't believe a lot of what she says, but that is not really my point. I do believe that our mind has the power to harm, or to heal. I know that when I am physically sick, most often I am feeling depressed or down. So which comes first?

 

There are times when my mind goes on a loop, when there are things, events, people that I can't get out of my head no matter how much I try to tell myself to forget. I always wonder, where is that magical portal, the one that transports you to a beautiful place that makes it all better, that heals the wounded and cures the sick, that takes away all pain, that allows our minds to rest? For me, it is not sleep, because my dreams are haunted by the thoughts which in the daytime I refused to allow myself to think. I wake up with a feeling that I can never escape it, no matter how hard I try.

It's not our hearts that feel. The heart is just a muscle. It is our brains that feel pain, joy, anger, jealousy, sadness. 

I finally got around to watching the movie Inside Out. Despite all my aversion to cartoons and Disney movies, I liked it. I liked the way it portrayed emotions, showing that it's okay to have a wide range of emotions, it's okay to feel. 

Sometimes I just wish I could shut it off.

It's not the world that's the problem

In this week's episode of Chicago Med (another spin-off of Chicago Fire), there is a mass shooting in a movie theater by a 17 year old gunman, and a high school teacher shoots the gunman thus saving a lot of people. Everyone hails the teacher as a hero and congratulates him on his quick thinking. He instantly goes from being a nobody to being an internet sensation, gaining 96,000 followers in one day.

As the episode progresses, the doctors realize that the only gunshot victim they treated was the 17 year old 'shooter', and the rest of the victims were simply victims of trampling. After investigating, the detectives find out that the shooter was no shooter at all, rather an idiot kid with a leaf blower pulling a prank. The teacher, swearing that he saw the kid holding a gun and that he heard gunshots, finds out that he shot an unarmed victim. Suddenly the internet turns on him and makes fun of him for shooting the kid. Feeling guilty, or humiliated, he ends up committing suicide by stepping in front of a car. His last message left behind on his phone is "It was an honest mistake."

The closing scene, in a bar between two doctor discussing the events of the day:

"Think he killed himself 'cause he felt guilty? Or because he was humiliated?"

"I don't know. I mean, does it really matter?"

"The time we live in, it's crazy."

"No. Look, The Crusades, the Mongol Conquest, World War I, World War II, that was crazy.
We're actually living in the most peaceful time in human history, but not that you'd know it. You know, every dumb, mean, stupid, vicious thing gets a light shown on it. The world would be a much better place, a much safer place if people'd just shut up."

A couple of days ago I woke up to the news that there was a 'terror attack' in the London Undergound. A guy pulled a knife, screamed 'This is for Syria" and stabbed 3 people before being subdued by the police. I wanted to go on a rant on Facebook, explaining why, in my opinion, this was no terror attack. France, that was a terror attack. Israel, they've known quite a few terror attacks. America, 9/11, San Bernardino, Boston bombing, all those were acts of terror. I wanted to laugh, in London a crazed man does not set off a bomb, does not pull a gun, he pulls a knife. By the time the police arrive the station is pretty much empty. It's like, so sorry mate, please, I want to cause some terror, please, so stand still while I stab you, please. (Phoebe, in The one With Ross's Wedding part II).

Of course, I hate controversy, especially anything political, so instead of posting my rant I turned over and went back to sleep. But I think the reason I felt so strongly about this is because, out of everything going on in the world right now, how can anyone call that a terror attack? Simply because the guy said it was for Syria? As one on-looker shouted, "You ain't no Muslim bruv". You don't represent Islam, or Syria. You are a crazy individual, and perhaps no one will ever know why you did what you did.

These aren't peaceful times, but perhaps it is true that the terror is simply broadcasted more widely than ever before, faster, instantaneously, you can watch an attack as it occurs in real time, the soldiers are taught to shoot and not to think first, assume that every shady character is a terrorist, it doesn't matter what the skin color is, because these days anyone can be a terrorist.

So what do you do? Do you live in fear? I thought, how weird for those 14 people who woke up in the morning, went to work and probably never even thought 'what if today is my last day on earth?' And then bam! They get shot and killed, and for what?

I can't explain it. I can't explain any of it, I can't explain the humor in a Facebook post that says, "I'm asking Santa for better presidential candidates", I can't explain why people spew hateful messages towards the current leadership, or why that leadership does not seem to be able to give the people what it needs right now, I can't explain why I get mad about the 'stop and frisk' rules in New York because I think it's racist, or why people call me a Liberal when they feel that the rise in crime is a direct result of the removal of that law.

The world is not the problem, the world has problems. People create problems, people create war, adversity, terror, hatred, racism. It all starts with man.

How can we combat that? How can we feel safe when the world feels like a terrifying place?

Here is a beautiful article I saw, addressing just that.

"15 things to do when the world feels terrifying".

Among the 15, here are my favorites:

6. Leave a copy of your favorite book in a public place.

Trust that the right person will find it.

10. Buy an extra box of tampons the next time you're out shopping.

Leave them in the ladies' room of your workplace for anyone to take. (If you're a dude and this weirds you out, talk to this 15-year-old kid about it).

*Author's note: I'm sure females can identify with this one. I was in the bathroom on campus one day, and I heard a voice from the stall next to me say, excuse me, do you have a tampon? I didn't, because I don't believe in tampons, but I was able to supply the anonymous voice with a pad (or "sanitary napkin"). It was a strangely elating feeling to be able to help out a stranger in a restroom, and I never even saw her face.

12. Go to a diner.

Order a milkshake. Tip 10 dollars.

13. Buy a pile of index cards and a sharpie.

Write down, "You are Important" or "Breathe." Carry them with you as you go about your day, leaving them in waiting room magazines, on car windshields, in elevators, in bathroom stalls. Keep one for yourself. We all need the reminder sometimes too.

14. Dig up an embarrassing photo of yourself from your teenage years.

Post it online. Laugh gently at the person you were, and celebrate the human you are now. If you're still in the process of living through your teenage years, take lots of pictures. You're doing great.

And the one that touched me the most:

15. Think. Think about the fact that the world can sometimes feel like a flaming cesspool of garbage.

Think about everyone in your zip code who is homeless and hungry, cold, terrified, and lonely. Think about global warming, handguns and assault rifles, violence on television, rape statistics, domestic abuse. Think about terrorism, both domestic and abroad. Think about petty cruelty. Think about your childhood schoolyard bully. Think about the times that you won the argument but lost the friendship.

Think about all the times you got too busy and didn't visit your relatives like you said you would or didn't give the dollar in the checkout line because times are rough and who even knows what the March of Dimes is. Think about how you don't want to think about who grows your food or makes your clothes or pieces your iPhone together, because in the world we inhabit, it's virtually impossible to exist without making some kind of ethical compromises. Think about the 7 billion other people people out there in the world. Think about the average 318,000 births today or the 133,000 deaths.

Think about how enormously complicated all of this is.

Think about how Mother Teresa accepted funds from corrupt embezzlers, how George Bush is an oil painter, a husband, a father, and a war criminal. Think about Princess Diana's life's work of charity and goodwill; remember also that she was depressed, lived through bulimia, and self-harmed. Name five celebrities, and then imagine them in the morning, with horse breath and red-rimmed eyes, stumbling to splash water on their face, just like you and me.

And remember, amidst all this, there are tons of incredibly easy, tiny ways to make the world a slightly less shitty place for everyone.

Take a deep breath of gratitude for the people out there who actually do make the world a better place. Challenge yourself to be that person, in whatever small way you can manage right now.

Photo via iStock.

Close your browser window. Shut down your laptop. Silence your cell phone. Just for a minute, before you go back to Netflix, before you text someone, before you answer more emails or meet friends for drinks or order a pizza or whatever it is that you're doing today: Just for a second, take a moment to remember that the world can be pretty magical sometimes, and you're really lucky to be alive in it.

Do what you can.

~~~

That's how we will combat the 'crazy' that is the world today. By remembering that darkness is simply the absence of light. By reminding ourselves every day that there are still good people in the world, and by making small efforts to try and be those people. 

Every time I get off the highway, there are homeless people with signs asking for money. I get nervous, because I am paranoid that the second I open my window they will try to carjack me. It bothers me that I lost the ability to trust in the goodness of humanity, that maybe these people are simply hungry and really do need the money for food, or to take care of their children. Unfortunately, there are many less-than-honest people who will break your trust and cause you to fear them and anyone like them. The key is to find a balance between complete paranoia and distrust, and being overly trusting and naive.

I had an idea that I could keep little 'to-go' bags in my car, a ziplock bag with a granola bar, mini water bottle, maybe mouthwash, gum, a few dollars, and maybe a note with some inspirational words. I could give it to these people when they walk by my window. Maybe they won't go hungry that day.

I'm sure you have ideas like this too. So go with it. Instead of thinking, it's probably a stupid idea and they will laugh and throw it back in my face, think that maybe out there, someone will get your message and feel touched, and grateful for the kind stranger who helped them out. 

Maybe you will be the one to restore someone's faith in humanity. And along the way, maybe you will even restore your own.

Turn that frown upside down

Tacky, I know.

I seem to always write when I have a cold, like "hey world, I feel like crap today, just thought I should let you know!". Not sure how you can get a cold in warm climate, but it happens.

Things haven't been going so well for me lately, or rather, I have let my control slip and things got into disarray. It is all how you look at it. Is my world falling apart, or am I just not holding it together strongly enough?

I'm part of a 'get fit' facebook group (who isn't?) The moderator is posting small exercises to do each day, to get people moving. Today it was simply, go outside, enjoy the beauty. So I did.

First, I went running. It was raining all morning, so I thought, how appropriate, I will run in the rain like in all romantic movies. But by the time I got dressed and went outside it had stopped raining. It was still nice and breezy, and I had a good run/jog/walk. There was a moment there when the wind picked up and I was running, it felt like I was controlling it.

I lit the menorah and enjoyed some chanuka songs.

Then, I went to an awesome outdoor free Avraham Fried concert, did I mention free? The music was so beautiful, and like I've heard mentioned before, Avraham Fried is such an aidel yiddishe guy, it's a pleasure to watch him sing. I felt like, hey there's Avremel Friedman, I see him all the time in Crown Heights, we're practically neighbors. It was nice to see tons of Jews in one place.

Then, I sat around drinking tea feeling sick and sorry for myself. But that's not the end, my friends.

My sister texted me for my address, and I'm pretty sure she's gonna send me chanuka cookies. Then we texted back and forth for like 45 minutes, and she was being really nice and supportive about what I'm going through. Which is, as my mom would put it, 'a miracle' because we used to hate each other and could barely say anything without throwing out nasty words. So ya, I guess family is not that bad.

All in all, I think things are looking up. And I attribute that to my attitude and my mindset, since nothing really changed since yesterday. But I feel different. More hopeful, more positive, like I actually want to move forward, and instead of waiting for things to fall into place, I will actively take the reins and make it happen.

Out of place

Trust. It's a fragile thing. It is easily broken.

Did you hear, Mark Zuckerberg and wife had a baby girl? Mazal tovs are in order. I mean, she is half Jewish. Just not the right half.

He and his wife wrote a letter to their baby daughter, expressing their wishes and hopes for what the world would be like when she grows up. I think it reads politically, rather than a sweet letter from dad to his daughter.

Regardless, I thought I would try one.

Dear unborn children of mine,

I want to say nice things like, I am so excited for your future, or I will be the best mom ever and love you the most. But I know that is not true.

I will try not to scream so much, like my parents did. I will try not to get annoyed at you when I am overtired and you are not listening, or when you wipe your grubby little hands all over the nice clean counter I just wiped down. I want you to understand the value of money, but also to never worry that we can't support you. I want you to call me in middle of the night when you screw up, even if it makes me feel like I didn't teach you right. Realistically, I know I may not be the most patient person, I know I may very well say things I will regret, I know I may not screw you up like my parents did to me, but with my very own errors, and I know there will be times when you will want to run away. So will I. Sometimes it is so tempting to leave when things get tough, but my mom never did that to me, and I promise not to do that to you. Every time I wanted to scream at my parents, "I hate you, and you never should have had kids!" my mother reminded me that apparently I chose them. So my advice to you, kiddo, is don't choose me. Run the other way!

I don't think these letters mean anything, because they are all unrealistic. You can say anything you want to a baby or an unborn child, but you will never truly know how things will be until they are.

I know how sucky it feels to answer the phone when my brother calls, thinking maybe he is interested in my life, but of course he only calls when he needs something from me. And then to do everything in my power to get him what he needs, thinking maybe then he will love me.

I sure showed him, showing up at his thanksgiving dinner where over 40 people attended, many of whom did not even know my brother personally, and yet he didn't think to text me to invite me. I said "thanks for inviting me" and he said "I didn't invite you but come again." I showed him, rifling through his kitchen, drunk and trying to find and steal (is it still called stealing if it's from family?) the green tea kettle my mom left there which I asked him if I could have because I was sick but had no burner to heat up water for tea, but apparently they "misplaced" it. If I were a tea kettle, where would I be? I never found it. I strutted around telling everyone 'that's my brother' like it actually meant something.

Ah, family. Sometimes I get homesick and tell my father that I want to come home, but then he reminds me that every time I come home I end up being miserable and wondering why I made the same mistake again.

I chase after these things respectfully called love, acceptance and belonging, knowing very well that they must come from within, not without (and picturing Will Smith saying, "without what?").  


I've been trying to get back into writing, so I tried some writing prompts. One was called, Out of Place. "When have you felt out of place? How can you capture that experience in words?" This is what I came up with:

~~~~~

She told me to ask for "The Firehouse", so feeling like an idiot I made my way to the front of the bus, and asked with uncertainty to be let off at the firehouse. I was sure the driver would tell me he's never heard of it, and I wouldn't know how to respond because I've never been there and I'm not very good with directions. But he simply nodded and said sure, it's along his route. Like, he knows. He's been there. They've all been there, I'm the only outsider in this little town. The bus slowed down and I gripped the back of the seat, trying very hard not to go flying through the front window. Definitely not the best way to exit a bus. I looked around me trying to locate #17, feeling lost and confused. Everyone had a chance to settle in, but I've never even seen the place. There are boxes with my name on it somewhere in the basement, but that's about it. The house looked so small from the outside, which is why they called it the "little green house". Definitely not big enough for 5 occupants. Six, now. I didn't bother knocking, I know they never lock their door. They never ask me to call first, they know we all just come and go, showing up and leaving when we please. Literally an "open home", but not in the meaningful sense. I tried to smile when I walked in the front door, to appear curious, enthusiastic, or simply interested in seeing their new abode. But I hated it the second I walked in. The clutter, the mess, the walls closing in on me reminding me why I left in the first place. Not this house, I didn't get a chance to leave yet. But I will. And soon. This definitely didn't feel like coming home.

~~~

To be fair, it did get easier after that first time. I still don't think of it as home, but merely "the place where some of my family members reside", only that's way to long to say. Also, after being away for so long it is nice to seek comfort in my parents' arms. The child in me wishes it could have been different, but the adult in me reminds myself that it is my turn now, to create my own home, my own world. 

You'd think I would be psyched, living in 80 degree weather, with my own apartment, a car, a pool in my backyard, living 15 minutes away from the beach and getting to watch magnificent sunsets every day. 

But I feel out of place. Like I don't belong anywhere. Like something is missing. Like I'm searching for something. It's not like looking for a lost object, because then you'd know what you were looking for, you just wouldn't know where to look. In this case, I don't know what it is, or where it is, or how to find it. 

I hope one day I will be driving home, and turn onto my street and feel a familiarity, like this is where I belong.

Just breathe

I inhale slowly, like he told me to, letting it flood my senses. It burns my throat slightly, but I don't cough. I am in control. I feel it spreading through me, my tongue tingling, I take another hit, but I feel nothing, or everything, I feel too much and I can't stop, I can't turn it off ever, I sip some wine and swirl it around on my tongue, swallowing, my head feels pressurized, everything is magnified by ten, but still I can't forget, I can't shut off my thoughts. I suggest more wine but he says I've had enough. I mumble under my breath, I think they can hear me but I'm not communicating, I can barely hold my head up, my thoughts coming faster than usual, melancholy, depressed, they say this is a downer, oh I feel it. I am ruining their vibe, but I can't help it. He tells me to go watch a funny movie but I don't want to be alone. I stare at the moon and mention its brightness, they laugh at me, I don't know why I didn't mean it to be funny. They carry on a conversation but all I can think about is G-d, what my purpose is in this world, and how I can be a giving person without getting hurt. I am aware that I am saying too much, I should stop talking now, I really should. I know I should just go to bed, but I don't want this weird night to end, and yet I know I will wake up tomorrow and pretend it never happened. He asks me "Are you good?" and I smile and nod and tell him yes, I'm good. And in a strange way, I think I am. 

On Body Image

I thought it was just me. But it isn't.

I sit on the couch with an old classmate looking through high school pics and reminiscing about the 'good 'ole days'. After all, it has been quite some time since high school. But the more we talk, the more it seems that we had a very different high school experience. While she went to a high school where she was young, thin, popular and had lots of friends, I was the awkward overweight teen who stood out in all the pictures, had a bad haircut, and had a hard time making friends. With every picture came more regrets, more shame, more self-hatred. The best way to explain it is that I was mad at "her" for being overweight and missing out on all the experiences, even though her was me and it wasn't really my fault.

"Oh my gosh, you lost so much weight, you look emaciated!" which is her way of saying 'you look hot and skinny', but the word emaciated conjures up images of bodies of people in the holocaust, and why would you want to look like that? But apparently thin is in.

Even famous people hate their bodies, apparently. But the question is, why? Is being thin going to make you happier? Looking like Brad Pitt going to make you more attractive? Will changing anything about yourself going to make you into a better person?

The problem is, if you can't figure out how to change your thoughts, control your mind, change your way of thinking, you can change your body, but inside you will still hate everything about you.

On Flying

We don't live in fear, we don't board a plane and wonder if it'll be our very last plane ride, if we will be hijacked midair. We roll our eyes and take off our shoes and go through security, bemoaning the liquid carry-on rules, the increasing baggage fees and the decreasing baggage limits, we roam the airports in search of electricity so we can stay connected, that is our one goal in life as we watch our batteries drain with fear in our eyes to never be without. But we are always watching, on our guard, alert. Or we are being watched, as we leave our bag for a second to walk over to the garbage can, and we know there is someone wondering if we will come back. We imagine saying "Oh no sir, that is not my bag," as we walk away, slowly, casually, imagining the bag blowing up behind us and leaving chaos and fear in our wake.

No? Is that only me?

I watch the travelers, wearing leggings and baggy clothing, traveling gear, nothing fancy, our hair and makeup and basic hygiene put on hold as we travel for 3, 5, 10 hours at a time, we confine ourselves to claustrophobic seats and even smaller bathrooms, our internal clocks screwed up as we cross time zones and date lines, getting to our destinations at ungodly hours and being forced to perform, to smile and hug and greet people and be a generally polite human being when all we want to do is scream that this is not human, and please I just want some sleep!

There's the safety video that is meant to catch people's attention and leaves me with raised eyebrows and headshake. A nun, really?

At least water and oxygen is still free. Barely.